


Walking on Water

by Ms_Starlight



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captain Duckling, Enchanted Forest AU, F/M, Pirate Killian, Princess Emma, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 138,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Starlight/pseuds/Ms_Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS AU: With the war against the ogres heating up, Princess Emma is dispatched to meet with a powerful nobleman whose magic powers might help win the battle. Her journey is interrupted when she is abducted by pirate captain Killian Jones, who plans to use her in his plot to avenge his brother's death at the hands of the Evil Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a Princess Meets a Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> OnceUponSomeChaos kindly lent me her very capable beta skills for most of the chapters of this story.

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,  
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free  
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,  
Survey our empire, and behold our home!  
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-  
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 1: In Which a Princess Meets a Pirate

Emma paused with her fork halfway to her mouth as footsteps pounded across the ship's deck above her cabin. Curious, she tilted her head, hoping to make out something of substance above the racket.

"Come about!" the captain bellowed. "For gods' sakes, men! Move! She's got us broadside!"

Emma had only a second to wonder what was happening before the distant rapport of a canon blast echoed like thunder along the ship's starboard side. She dropped her fork and gripped the table in front of her as the ship began to turn, its timbers creaking against the weight of the sea.

Soon, she knew, the captain would hoist their colors and this bit of excitement would draw to a close. Hers was a royal ship carrying papers from Queen Regina that guaranteed them unmolested passage through these waters. And, from what Emma understood of this kingdom,  _no one_  dared disobey the Evil Queen.

Under normal circumstances, Emma would never have entered Regina's domain at all. Her parents had been rebuffing the woman's attempts at forming an alliance against the ogres for years. They wanted nothing to do with her or the way that she waged war, even if they shared a mutual enemy.

That was, at least, until Emma found herself a mere breath away from the war's bloody front.

She'd been sent north to negotiate with a powerful nobleman's son, Baelfire. Emma had met him once, briefly, during her coming-of-age ball years ago. Apparently she'd made quite the impression, because when rumors reached her kingdom that Bae's father had secured his estate and all its vast environs against the ogres, her father immediately sent envoys to meet with the man, and every single one of them returned with the same message requesting a meeting with Emma --  _only_  with Emma.

She'd known when she agreed to go that she would likely end up fielding a marriage proposal - her hand to seal her kingdom's safety. She hadn't decided what to do about it yet when an urgent message reached her caravan informing her that ogres had attacked close by and the battle lines were retreating west, right in her direction. She'd been ordered to turn around, board a ship that her father had arranged for her, and hurry home.

As luck would have it, her route took her straight past Regina's kingdom.

Dusting her hands, Emma got up from the table, her uninspiring little meal of hard flour biscuits, dried meat, and uncooked root vegetables forgotten.

Another canon blast rocked the ship, this one much closer.

The door to her cabin flew open a moment later and the first mate rushed in, his face ruddy.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"We are under attack."

"No kidding."

"There's nothing to worry about," he hurried to reassure her. "The captain plans to outrun them."

She crossed her arms. "I don't understand. Why don't we just stop and show them our papers?"

"Because." His throat worked hard as he swallowed. "It's pirates, m'lady."

Emma stared, real fear beginning to curl in her stomach.

"You're to stay here," he continued. "It's just a precaution, in case they get close enough to land a shot. They tried to ambush us - very nearly succeeded, too - but we spotted them in time. They'll give us a good chase, but it's doubtful they'll be able to catch up."

He didn't look as confident as he sounded.

Emma waved him away rather than press further, knowing the captain would need all of his hands on deck.

The mast groaned under the strain of the wind in the sails as she paced. Still, the boom of the canons drew ever closer until one shot finally found its way home, smashing into the hull with a sharp crack.

"At arms, men!" the captain cried out.

In her room, Emma searched for anything she could use as a weapon, wishing like hell she'd brought along a sword. The sound of fighting filtered down from above: swords clashing, men yelling, feet stamping. A clatter on the stairs warned her that someone was coming. In wild desperation, she snatched up a heavy water jug off the table.

The door opened and she swung the pitcher right into the pirate's unsuspecting face, rotating the full force of her body into the blow. It smashed in an explosion of water and pottery shards, sending him toppling over.

A second man, a toady looking guy wearing a floppy red hat, leapt over his fallen comrade's body and came at her, his teeth bared.

 _Damn_.

She'd hoped there would only be one.

Emma ducked out of the way just in time. Her hip banged painfully into the table, knocking it over with a crash. Through the debris, she leapt to grab the first pirate's dropped sword.

Her fingers closed gratefully around the hilt, and she wheeled around to face her attacker.

He froze, the point of her sword poised dangerously close to his throat.

" _You're_  the princess?" he squeaked.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

Parrying exactly the way her tutor, Lancelot, had taught her, she disarmed her opponent with a single sweep of her arm, sending his weapon flying across the room. It landed with a clatter near the overturned table. He gaped at her in astonishment for the second that it took her to draw back her arm and smash the heavy hilt of the sword into his temple, crumpling him into a sad pile on the floor.

Without waiting to see if he was out, she turned and darted toward the door.

Already, four other men blocked her path.

" _Really?_ Son of a—"

All four came at her at once.

Emma struck out where she could, catching flesh at least once with her sword before it was knocked from her hand. Then she found herself flat on the floor, her head ringing, black spots clouding her vision.

"We've got her! Let's go!"

Strong hands hauled her to her feet and up the stairs, out into the bright evening sun. The cool sea breeze helped clear her head. She looked around to find the ship's deck in chaos: men rushing every which way, some still locked in battle, others racing back across the narrow plank to the pirate ship, and black, acrid smoke obscuring everything. She glanced up to find one of the mainsails on fire, the flames spreading fast, threatening to engulf the mast as well.

"Back to the  _Roger!_ Go! Go!"

Emma kicked her feet, but they had her fast, relaxing their grip only to heave her up onto the plank and shove her across the gap of open sea onto the waiting deck on the other side. Her hands and knees stung where she landed.

She'd barely gotten her wits about her before the pirates manhandled her into one of the ship's cabins. Dazed, she stumbled down the ladder, missing the last step. The door slammed shut behind her, a bolt sliding firmly into place.

She felt the pirate ship begin to pull away, its speed impressive as it cut through the water, making its escape.

She massaged her head with one hand where it ached.

What the hell had just happened?

Piratesshould have wanted loot. They should have taken their time plundering her ship, searching for treasure.

Instead they had boarded, abducted her, and then immediately fled.

Why? They'd had her ship at heel. It had been ripe for the picking.

The cabin they had locked her in was small but bright and clean, its floors and walls whitewashed, with a narrow bed against one wall and several shelves brimming with books against the other. A wooden table took up the middle of the space, its surface covered in papers, knickknacks, and the remains of a meal similar to the one she'd just left behind.

Emma crouched with her back against the wall and waited, but no one disturbed her.

Then, finally, with the sun slanting long shadows through the narrow windows, the door above her opened and a man stepped through, down the ladder. Her gaze traveled up his body he took the rungs one by one: black boots, blank pants, and a long, black coat - the only color in his ensemble a red waistcoat with polished brass buttons. He wore several large, gaudy rings on either hand and a collection of medallions around his neck, the pendants resting against the 'V' of bare skin exposed by his only half-buttoned shirt.

The captain, she figured.

He dropped all the way down into the cabin and smiled at her, brimming with charm and incredibly, unfairly handsome — his dark hair mussed by the wind, his eyes the bluest she'd ever seen.

Her plan of attack forgotten, all of her guile temporarily defeated, she merely stared.

"So," he said slowly, his thumbs hooking on his belt as he leaned back against the wall. "You're the princess. You're Emma."

She crossed her arms tight over her chest. "You've heard of me?"

"In passing." He stepped away from the wall, closer to her. "My name's Killian Jones. But you can call me Captain."

Emma held her ground as he approached.

"What do you want with me,  _Captain_?"

He smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Whatever it is," she said, squaring her shoulders, gathering up all of her bravado, "you're not going to get it without a fight."

His blue eyes narrowed with amusement and his teeth drew his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment as he continued to smile. "You're a tough one, lass."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Happily, it does. You'd make a hell of a pirate, love. Took down three of my crew all by yourself. Which is more fight than anyone else on that ship put up."

"And yet you risked coming down her to confront me all by yourself?" Emma retorted.

"I love a challenge," he replied, his soft, lilting accent growing suddenly more pronounced. He reached out and twined a finger in her hair. "You know, I had planned to let you have your run of the ship, but seeing as you've proven so surprisingly resourceful, I think it would be best if you stayed here for now, in my quarters and away from the crew."

"This is your room?"

"Aye. The best on the ship."

She looked around, taking in the meager decor once more. "Seems a little drab for a pirate captain. No booty?"

He laughed. "Well, there's  _you_ , darling."

At the innuendo, Emma felt her cheeks warm. No one had ever talked to her like that. She was not this man's princess, she realized, and he wouldn't treat her like one — something she found unexpectedly refreshing...even a little _exciting_. She'd long hated being forced to spend time with noblemen who saw her as a princess first and Emma second. She couldn't remember the last man who'd looked at her rather than her crown. But she also felt vulnerable with all the familiar power of her title stripped away. She didn't quite know how to reconcile the two competing emotions into a coherent response.

"Are you planning to ransom me back to my father?" she finally managed.

He didn't answer, turning instead to pick up a plate off the table. "You should eat," he suggested, handing it to her.

Emma sighed, supposing that she might as well play along for the time being and reached out to take it.

The smirk on the captain's lips dropped away as he looked down at her hand. Before she could react, he whisked the plate away and took her outstretched hand in his own.

"Hey! What are you—?"

"Your hand. It's hurt." His fingers wrapped tight around her wrist, warm and strong, and he drew her closer.

"It's fine."

She hadn't even noticed the cut, though now that he had pointed it out it began to sting.

"No. It's not. Let me help you."

"Help me? Are you kidding? After violently abducting me, now you're suddenly a gentleman?"

"I'm always a gentleman," he replied, sounding only half joking.

He put the plate down and picked up a metal flask.

Emma tried to jerk her hand away, uncomfortable with the way that he was holding onto her. His touch made her whole arm tingle with warmth, and the sensation was spreading, curling toward her heart.

He lifted the flask to his mouth, uncorking it with his teeth. Emma watched breathlessly as he carefully turned her hand over palm up, then titled the flask and poured liquid across the cut.

It burned like pure fire.

She let out a litany of oaths fluent enough to impress any sailor.

"What the  _hell_  is that?"

"Rum. A bloody waste of it, too."

He looked amused again, his eyes crinkled at the edges, his teeth bright white against the backdrop of the dark stubble dusting his jaw. He snatched a bit of cloth off the table and began to wind it around her hand.

"Now, darling, let me tell you about how things work on my ship. I give the orders. You follow them."

"I'm not a member of your crew," Emma reminded him. "I'm a prisoner. I won't be following  _any_  of your orders."

"I was rather hoping that you would be my guest."

"Not a chance."

He dropped her hand, fully bandaged now, and gave her a long, appraising look. She got the distinct impression that he saw straight through tough exterior.

"As you wish," he finally said, dipping his head in a mocking bow. "But don't say I didn't give you a choice, love."

He turned to leave, and Emma suddenly remembered that she had planned to beat the ever-living hell out of whichever pirate dared to speak to her first. Her hands clenched uselessly at her sides, the injured one pinching as it closed tight around the bandage the captain had so tenderly applied. She watched him go, lithe and graceful, his coat streaming up the ladder and out of the room behind him.

_Damn it._

_Damn_ him.

What was she supposed to do now?

Emma circled for a while, intensely aware of his voice issuing commands up above. Finally, at a loss, she sat down at the table and pulled over the plate of food. It tasted better than what she'd gotten on board the last ship: the bread marginally softer, and with sweet slices of fruit to accompany it rather than hard vegetables. With a shrug, she ate it all, then picked up the flask of rum Captain Jones had left sitting open, lifted it to her lips, and took a long drink.

The liquor settled warm in her stomach and helped to harden her resolve.

This Captain Jones thought he had her figured out. Thought he knew what to expect from the princess he'd captured. But he had no idea.

Killian Jones's life was about to become very complicated.

* * *

The  _Jolly Roger_  made good time as she cut through calm waters, sailing as fast as she could out of the Evil Queen's realm and into the wild, uncharted expanse of the open sea. Killian stood at the wheel in the dark, the moon and stars illuminating the deck below where a handful of his men milled about, tending to the rigging and talking amongst themselves about how they'd captured Princess Emma earlier that afternoon.

Admittedly, a rash decision. One Killian hadn't had time to properly think through.

Now he felt as if he had a dragon by the tail, and he wasn't sure what to do next.

The princess was not at all what he had expected.

She was beautiful, of course. He'd anticipated that. Her blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and soft face befitted that of the daughter of Snow White, once rumored to be most beautiful woman in all the realms. But he hadn't expected someone so full of fire, so brave, and strong. He hadn't expected her to leave Smee with a concussion, or Mullins with a black eye, or Starkey with a stab wound to the thigh.

And he sure as hell hadn't expected to  _like_  her.

He wondered what she was doing in his quarters. Looking through his things most likely, searching for a weapon to take his head off with the next time he dared pass through the doorway.

He sighed as he looked up at the sky, getting his bearings, considering his options.

All he knew for certain was that the Evil Queen wanted this woman, which made it his duty to keep Emma out of her hands. Thwarting the queen had been the only thing on his mind when he'd ordered the  _Jolly Roger_  to lie in wait for the princess's ship. When he'd learned of her journey and of the queen's plans to snatch her from one of his contacts in the palace, it had taken precious little thought to arrive at the dastardly plot to simply get the princess first.

But he had no idea  _why_  the Evil Queen wanted Emma.

Which left him with a choice: to hold onto her until he found out, in case he might be able to foil the queen's plans even further; or turn south and return the princess safe and sound to her own kingdom and hope that her father wouldn't have him put to death for the courtesy.

_Bloody fool._

If his brother were still alive, he was certain he'd have earned himself a firm smack upside the head today.

At the thought of Liam, his grip tightened on the wheel. He still missed his brother dearly. He kept expecting some of the pain to diminish, for the memory of watching his brother die to stop haunting him. But if anything, it had only grown more vivid. He sensed Liam's absence as a gnawing ache in his heart that refused abate. He could barely remember not feeling this way, his heady few years as his brother's trusted lieutenant in the Queen's Navy more like a story he'd heard rather than a life he'd lived.

He scowled.

The Evil Queen needed to be brought to justice. His brother's ghost demanded vengeance.

Killian had vowed to do both.

Whatever that meant for Princess Emma, he'd figure out soon enough. For now, he changed course to head southeast, giving himself time to think while also making progress back toward Emma's home.

For most of the night, he remained on deck, tending to the ship and watching the waves. The moon made a wide arc through the sky before dipping into the sea just before dawn. By then, his eyes ached with exhaustion and his feet had gone numb with the cold.

When the crew began to stir, men appearing once again on deck, he fired off his orders for the day (maintain heading, keep it steady, call for him if anything came up), and, after removing and securing his sword, retreated back to his quarters, confident that the  _Roger_  was in good hands. Several of his crew had served with him under his brother and had loved Liam enough to follow join Killian's quest for vengeance. He trusted them as much as he could anyone.

He dropped down the familiar ladder in the pre-dawn murk, finding his way by muscle memory more than sight and discovered the princess in his bed.

The sight stirred something deep and primal within him.

However, his pleasure immediately vanished when she sat up, bolting straight from complete unconsciousness to battle-ready in the blink of an eye, and lunged at him.

He didn't see what she had in her hand until she was almost on top of him, swinging it like a deadly, golden scythe — his brother's sextant, the one which had led them to Neverland, to dreamshade, and to death.

Killian fell back against the ladder, just out of Emma's reach, and the sextant narrowly missed his face.

"Come now, darling," he said, ducking so that he could grab hold of her. He managed to catch both her arms and used his grip to shake the sextant loose. It landed with a heavy thud on the floor. "We can fight, if that's what you want. But I fight fair."

"Well, I don't," she bit out, her green eyes on fire.

He tugged her closer, tucking her hands and forearms tight against his chest, very aware that his heart was racing and that she could probably feel it. She glared and tried to knee him between the legs. He barely jerked his hips out of the way in time.

"What are you hoping to accomplish?" he asked, backing her up, trying to find a place to pin her, to keep her under control. "We're out at sea. There's nowhere for you to run. What good do you think this will do you?"

The back of her thighs hit the table with a thud, and her jaw worked back and forth as she stared up at him. "It think it would make me feel better."

"I have no intention of hurting you," he said, hoping she could sense his honesty.

"Then what  _do_  you want with me?"

How to explain, when even he didn't know?

"It's not so much that I  _want_  you, love," he replied, his voice dropping low, "as it is that I don't want someone  _else_  to have you. Though that may change now that I realize what a sweet prize you are."

Her mouth fell open, making his gaze drop to her lips.

"You're…" She couldn't seem to complete the sentence. "Gods. You're a…"

"A pirate?" he supplied.

Once, he'd been more. A man of honor. A man with a code. But not anymore. All of that had slipped away after leaving the navy, believing that at least thieves kept their own form of honor, only to discover that they were in fact exactly the sort of ruthless criminals they seemed. He'd had to become one of them to survive, to follow through on his quest to see the queen overthrown and his brother avenged. It didn't mean he liked what he'd become. But he'd come to accept it.

"I'm tired," he announced, letting her go. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned away to walk toward the bed. When he sat down on the edge of the mattress, he saw her standing right where he'd left her with her bottom still perched on the edge of the table and her hands clasped in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What does it look like?" He shrugged out of his coat, then bent down to pull off his boots, before swinging his feet up onto the bed and stretching out.

Emma stomped over to him. "You're going to sleep?"

"Aye. Did you forget that this is my room, love?"

She looked down at him, her hands on her hips. "You can't sleep."

"I've been up all night, darling. I assure you, I'll be sleeping just fine."

"But I'm standing  _right here_. Aren't you worried I'll try to hurt you?"

He rolled over to face the wall. "No."

She huffed, her exasperation positively adorable. "Why? I just attacked you. I could do it again."

"I will take my chances."

The mattress and pillow felt wonderful underneath him, still warm and sweet smelling where she'd been laying. He almost didn't care whether she tried to beat his brains out with the sextant again so long as she let him bury his face in the pillow for a while first. Although he suspected that being forced to look at him first would prevent her from doing him any harm, especially since he would be unarmed and asleep.

"What am I supposed to do while you nap?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"I'm certain you'll find something."

"Won't I keep you up?"

He rolled back over just enough to look up at her. "Would you rather join me?"

She huffed again and walked away.

Killian pulled a loose blanket up over his hips and settled in, the sound of Emma moving about his quarters easily blending into the shuffling of the crew up above. It was a comforting cadence, and he swiftly fell asleep.

* * *

From across the room, Emma watched the pirate captain doze. At first she thought that he was testing her, pretending to sleep, waiting to see what she would do. But soon his breathing evened out, his whole body relaxed. He didn't move when she walked back over to the bed and stood over him.

What to do?

The man had abducted her. He was a criminal, probably a murderer, and most definitely a thief. But while she knew, logically, that Killian Jones was a "very bad man"…he hadn't exactly done anything bad to her. Yet.

She sighed, wishing that he'd get back up so that she could demand answers or fight him fair.

For a few minutes, she knocked around the cabin, making no effort to be quiet, hoping it might rouse him. When it didn't, she decided to ignore him.

Captain Jones had a lot of interesting things stowed away in his quarters. Before falling asleep the night before, she had looked through everything he had out on the table, reading through all of his papers (none of which had turned out to be of a personal nature) and turning over every trinket.

A big chest sat at the foot of the bed, but a lock had kept her from opening it. Carefully, she picked up his heavy leather coat, half expecting him to sit up and cut her hand off for daring to touch it. He didn't. So she sat down cross legged on the floor, pooling it in her lap, and began rummaging through the pockets, hoping to locate the key. All she found was an old slip of paper, folded several times over and tucked into an inside breast pocket. Curious, she flattened the sheet out on the floor. It was a painting of a plant: weedy looking and thorny, the word "dreamshade" scribed across the top.

_Okay…_

She folded it back up, returned it to the pocket she found it in, then draped the coat over top of the chest.

Next, she set about browsing through his books.

The collection impressed her. For every volume filled with star charts and maps, she found another of poetry, and several novels. She only recognized a few titles. All the rest were new. She plucked one off the shelf and flipped through the pages, pausing to read just enough to get a feel for the story -- something about a group of noble knights all seeking a magical cup.

Sounded interesting. Good enough to pass the time, anyway. She settled down on the floor at the end of the bed, her back to the chest, and let the book fall open to the first page in her lap.

A name was scrawled just inside the front cover.

 _Liam Jones_.

Liam? Who was that? His father? Uncle? Brother?

She glanced up at him, unable to stifle her curiosity.

Just who was this man? This pirate captain who had kidnapped her but not looted her ship? Who kept her locked up in his quarters but never laid a hand on her?

She'd expected someone more menacing. More brutal. Certainly not someone who read poetry. Or bandaged the hands of his injured prisoners. She believed him when he told her that he had no plans to hurt her.

The ability was there though. He could be cruel if he wanted. He had a darkness about him, lurking just beneath the surface.

She still had no idea what he wanted.

Perhaps, she thought, he didn't plan to hurt her directly, but was even now on the way to deliver her to someone else who would. Someone with a vendetta against her parents. Or, hell, maybe just someone with a pet dragon who had a taste for princess.

 _Don't let him fool you_ , she reminded herself.  _You can't trust him._

When the time was right, she'd make her move.

But right now...

She leaned her head back against his coat, the leather soft and warm and musky, propped the novel open on top of her knees, and began to read.


	2. In Which Things Get Complicated

"Steer to shore!" — they sail. "Do this!" — 'tis done:  
"Now form and follow me!" — the spoil is won.  
Thus prompt his accents and his actions still,  
And all obey and few inquire his will;  
To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye  
Convey reproof, nor further deign reply.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 2: In Which Things Get Complicated

Killian woke to find Emma sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, the top of her head visible just past his boot. One of his books sat perched open on top of her bent knees. The thick stack of pages under her thumb suggested that she'd been there, lingering close by, for quite some time. When he cleared his throat, she started and fumbled it into her lap.

"I see you managed to keep your hands off me," he quipped, his voice still thick with sleep. "Excellent show of restraint, love."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. The only thing I'm  _restraining_  is my desire to punch you in the face."

He arched an eyebrow and spread his hands.

"I'm right here, sweetheart. Do what you will with me."

She glared at him for a second and then pointedly returned to her reading. It was a better reaction, he supposed, than actually taking the invitation to hit him. But for some reason, it left him disappointed. Brushing the feeling aside with a shake of his head, he got up.

"Looks to be late morning," he said as he glanced out the windows above the bed. "Are you hungry?"

She didn't even glance up from her book. "Not if it means that I'll be eating with you."

"Then you will be getting very hungry indeed."

He didn't think it wouldn't do any good to push her. So he settled for climbing the ladder out of his quarters, popping his head out onto deck, and demanding breakfast. Smee appeared a minute later with a tray covered in an assortment of food, including oatmeal with sugar, flour biscuits, several pieces of salted pork, a lime cut into quarters, a small jug of fresh water, and, of course, a full flask of rum.

"Thank you, Mister Smee."

He stepped back down the ladder, careful not to drop anything, and then unloaded it all onto the table. The chair legs squealed against the floor as he pulled it out, positioning it sideways so that he could sit facing Emma.

"Come. Eat with me," he said as he picked up the bowl of oatmeal and stirred the sugar in. With his foot, he scooted out the chair across from him. "You're only punishing yourself, darling."

Her eyebrows drew together into a crafty arch. Slowly, she dog-eared her page, folded the book shut, and cradled it to her chest. 

"Who's Liam?" she asked.

The question, easily as effective as a physical blow, made Killian's stomach lurch.

"Pardon?"

"Liam Jones." She got up off the floor, walked over to him, and laid the book out on the table so that it opened to the first page. Her finger fell on Liam's name, penned there long ago in his neat, precise hand. "He must mean something to you, or you wouldn't have so many of his things."

How painfully perceptive of her to notice.

"He was my brother."

" _Was_?"

"Aye."

She sat down, her knee brushing his under the table as she reached for a biscuit. "Older or younger?"

"Older."

"Was he a pirate, too?"

Killian shifted uncomfortably. "Let's not discuss this right now, shall we?"

"If you don't want to talk, then you shouldn't insist on taking your meals with me," she replied before taking a large, self-satisfied bite.

"Then perhaps we should talk about _you_." He nudged the plate closer to her. "For starters, why were you in the Evil Queen's realm? It was my understanding that your kingdoms aren't exactly friendly."

"We're not. I was just passing through. Heading home."

"From where?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, parroting back what he'd said to her the day before with a flutter of her eyelashes.

He very much _would_ like to know, actually. Frowning, he searched his mind for anything that could have drawn the princess out of her kingdom and north, through Regina's. There wasn't much up that way -- the ogres had made certain of that, leaving the northern kingdoms bloody, ragged, and battle scarred. Although he had heard rumors recently that at least one small corner of land remained untouched, lorded over by someone he'd only ever heard referred to as the Dark One.

Surely, the king and queen would not have dispatched their daughter to negotiate with someone like that.

It had to be something more mundane, less dangerous. Something only the princess could do.

Considering her age…

"You were meeting a suitor," he guessed.

The surprised tilt to her head let him know he'd hit close to the mark.

"He must have been quite a beast to make you return home with such haste."

She picked up a slice of lime and shrugged. "For whatever good it did me. Out of the arms of one beast and into the arms of another. Right?"

"You're not in my arms  _yet_ , love."

"Try  _never_ , Captain," she replied with a sour downturn of her mouth — though the tone of her voice struck him as more teasing than repulsed.

He let her finish the last of the oatmeal, then ate some lime himself before washing it all down with a drag of rum from the flask. It had been a long time since he'd sat down to a meal with anyone. Not since Liam had died. Women had come and gone from his cabin, for sure, but none that he'd bothered to feed or keep around for more than a few hours.

"I have business to tend to up on deck," he told her and got up. "You're to stay here. I'll see to it that you receive regular meals."

She sighed. "You can't leave me locked up like this forever."

"You  _are_  a prisoner, darling."

"Yes. But you said yourself, there's nowhere I can go. Even if I were to leave your cabin, there's nothing but open ocean out there."

He had to give her that point. But…

"There is also my crew. Most of whom are not as fond of you as I am."

Emma's back straightened. "I can hold my own."

"I don't doubt that. I'm more worried about them."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, adding a beguiling gentleness to her whole face. If possible, it made her even more beautiful.

"What if I promise to behave?" she asked. "I can be good."

"Ah. But, m'lady…" He leaned close and winked, his fingertips sliding across the table top until they brushed the edge of her hand. "I rather fancy you when you're bad."

Rather than look scandalized, Emma merely released a long-suffering sigh, as if she had been fielding come-ons like his her entire life. And maybe she had, though couched in loftier terms — princes and noblemen wooing her with flowery words and poetry that all amounted to the same, rude thing with all the finery stripped away. Duly impressed, and a little concerned by how easy it could be to get used to having her around, Killian got up from the table and moved to grab his coat.

It wasn't where he'd left it the night before. Instead, he found it laid out on top of his trunk.

Apparently, his person was the  _only_  thing Emma had managed not to touch while he slept.

Amused, despite himself, he snapped the coat out, then shrugged it on before heading to the door.

Emma was still sitting at the table when he left.

Smee immediately trotted across the deck over to him.

"Captain," he said, one hand holding his hat on against the brisk ocean breeze." We've held steady, just as you requested, but it is slow going against the wind, sir."

Killian nodded and climbed the steps up to the helm, taking over the wheel from his quartermaster, Ed Teyente. He swung it experimentally back and forth a few degrees, trying to get a feeling for which direction he wanted to go, and then made his decision.

He'd take Emma home -- return her to her kingdom and hope that by kidnapping her to begin with, he'd managed to deal a mortal blow to the Evil Queen's plot.

With a glance up at the sky to orient himself, he called out a new heading: due south, tacking aggressively into the northerly breeze to increase their speed.

"We'll be ransoming the princess then, Captain?" Smee asked.

"Aye. That we will."

He'd have to find a place to dock just outside the kingdom from where he could send word to the king to come and fetch his daughter. A few options came to mind, some friendlier than others.

"I'm sure she'll bring a tidy sum, sir," Smee said, all a-glow with equal parts avarice and cruel satisfaction. The dark, swollen bruise where Emma had knocked him unconscious, gave the expression an added patina of menace.

Killian waved him away. "Back to work, mate."

It'd be a hard day of sailing against the wind. But he wanted to get Emma home as fast as possible — not just because several of his crew had reason to hate her, or because he kept finding so many reasons to like her, but because he knew that he needed to beat Regina in getting word to Emma's parents. Luckily, the ill winds would work just as much against the queen's ships as his. And none in all the realms was faster than the  _Jolly Roger_.

Surely this once, he had her beat.

* * *

Snow White paused to linger in the doorway as she passed by her daughter's empty room. Several weeks had passed since she had seen Emma off, and not a single moment in which she hadn't felt her absence in the castle, a shadow that grew bigger and darker every day. Snow had disliked the idea of sending Emma to meet with Baelfire from the start. It didn't sit right. Not just letting Emma go off on her own, but seeking to make deals with men like Rumplestiltskin at all.

From everything she'd heard about him and about the small patch of land he held under his protection, the man had vast magical powers.

Snow knew that all magic came with a price. Whatever Rumplestiltskin had paid for his, whatever kind of monster it had surely turned him into, wasn't something she wanted to bet her daughter or her kingdom on.

In Snow's mind, the ogres had just been a convenient excuse to bring Emma home and put a stop to all of it.

"You know, she'll be back in a week or so," said a voice from behind her.

"David!" She smiled at her husband and offered her hand. "You startled me."

He drew her close enough to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Emma can take care of herself. She's  _your_  daughter."

" _Our_  daughter," she reminded him. "And, I know. I'm not worried. I'm just… I'll be glad to have her home again."

"Yeah." David peered into Emma's room and let out a sigh. "I miss her, too."

"I suppose we should probably get used to the feeling. She's a grown woman now. Soon she'll marry, have children of her own…"

"Emma doesn't seem interested in that."

"Only because she hasn't met the right person. But, she will."

In any other kingdom, Emma would have been slotted into an arranged marriage years ago. But Snow believed in true love, and she would have nothing less for her daughter. That Emma had now managed to pass through adolescence and into full-grown womanhood without ever picking a suitor had the whole kingdom talking. She'd gained quite the reputation as the princess whose heart could not be won.

Of course, she had also gained a reputation for being almost as good with a sword as her father.

Snow was proud of it all.

"We should have a feast to welcome her home," she decided. "After living on ship rations for so long, I'm sure a home cooked meal will hit just the spot."

David nodded. "Sure. I'll mention it to the staff." His arm snaked around her waist. "Now, how about you come to bed?"

They walked together, arm in arm, back to their own chamber. While David left to shave and bathe, Snow changed into her nightgown and sat down to brush out her hair. The evening ritual had her in a comfortable trance, staring at her own reflection in the mirror, when the surface of the glass suddenly fogged over. She dropped her brush as a familiar face appeared, ruby-lipped and smiling, the mirror showing the edges of her black lace dress.

"Hello, Snow," Regina purred.

There was no room for pleasantries. Not with this woman.

"What do you want?" Snow asked.

"Just to deliver some news," Regina replied. "It's always easier to hear things like this from  _family_."

"Things like what?"

Regina leaned in, her face growing larger in the mirror.

"It seems your daughter's ship ran into some trouble yesterday."

Snow's heart clenched. "Trouble? You gave us your word that you'd let her ship pass through unharmed."

"Oh, it wasn't me."

"Then…who?"

"Pirates. A certain pirate, in fact, named Killian Jones. He's a bug I've been trying to squash for years."

"Is she…?"

"Dead, most likely," Regina replied with a dramatic pout. "Captain Jones is the worst of them all. Worse, even, than me."

Snow felt as if she might faint. Her fingers gripped the edge of her dressing table to keep her steady. Was it possible? Was Regina telling the truth? Snow couldn't fathom it. Couldn't process the idea that her daughter, her only child, the one creature she loved the most in this world might be…

_Emma. Oh, please. Gods, no._

She did the only thing she could — made a last, desperate grasp at her sanity, and screamed.

" _David!_ "

* * *

Several days passed without much change. Emma stayed locked up in the captain's quarters on board the pirate ship, seeing and speaking to no one but Killian Jones. Most of the time, he left her alone, staying up on deck and only coming down to take periodic cat naps. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night to find him snoozing on the floor beside the bed, only to be gone by morning. They took every meal together (something he insisted on), and she always pressed, trying to learn more about him, about his ship, and about what he planned to do with her.

To his credit, Captain Jones never gave much of anything away.

She gathered that his brother, Liam, had died tragically. But it was a sore subject, one he was extraordinarily disinclined to discuss and one that she didn't want to push him on.

She had also gathered by continuing to browse through Liam's books that he  _hadn't_  in fact been a pirate, but an officer in the queen's navy. Quite a few books of star charts and maps on the shelves bore Regina's royal seal, marking them as the sort of government issued material that Emma acutely familiar with. It made Liam an easy man to imagine: starched and stern, completely aboveboard — the complete opposite of his little brother, Killian. It amused her to think of the two interacting.

Killian spent their meals pressing her for information as well. And she gave away just as little.

He seemed very interested in the politics between her kingdom and Regina's. And, tangentially, whenever it came up (which it  _often_  did) of her mysterious suitor. She hadn't bothered to disabuse him of the notion that she'd been off traveling in search of a husband because it had, at least in part, been true. Bae obviously had some interest in her. But also, she liked the way it always took their conversation off track, away from tender subjects where she had to play coy and into easy banter where she could relax.

Truthfully, Emma thought she might be getting a little  _too_  relaxed.

She was asleep, the book she had been reading laying open next to her on the bed, when Killian dropped down the ladder.

"Up and about, Princess. I've brought you something."

She knuckled at her eyes, surprised to find it bright and sunny outside the narrow windows above the bed. More and more, she found herself losing track of time.

She yawned and sat up. "A bowl and a rag? How thoughtful."

"A bath." He sat the ceramic basin down on the table, dropped the cloth into the water, then deposited a wedge of soap next to it.

"I think I'll pass," she said.

"Do what you like, but I remind you again, my dear: you'd only be punishing yourself."

"Think of it as pirate repellant." She smiled.

His eyebrow shot up and he crossed the room to stand next to her. "Doesn't seem to be working, love."

For the first time since bringing her aboard, he hadn't taken off his sword before coming down to talk to her. Emma let her gaze flicker to its hilt resting against his hip once before meeting his eyes again. A cocky grin spread slowly across his lips, as he must have guessed that she'd glanced at something _else_ down below. On an insane whim, Emma decided to run with it. He didn't often let his guard down like this.

She got up off the bed and took the one step required to bring her within his personal space, just a fraction of an inch between them.

"You know," she said slowly, her voice low, "I'm not accustomed to bathing myself."

His cheeks flushed almost imperceptibly.

"I suppose I could be convinced to render assistance," he replied, his voice just as low.

Despite herself, Emma felt her heart quicken. The thought of him touching her, undressing her, should have repulsed her. Instead, it filled her with dark, hot excitement. Maybe  _because_  of how wrong it would be. How utterly and totally forbidden.

"I believe it is part of your duty as captain," she continued, no longer needing to feign the breathiness of her voice, "to be certain that your captives are well  _taken care of_."

The look that he gave her — his eyes focused hard on her face, his lips slightly parted, hair freshly mussed by the wind, tension seeming to radiate off him in waves — almost made Emma forget what she was about.

When she reached for him, he flinched. Carefully, she slipped her hands past the edges of his coat, toward his hips, stepping closer…moving in, her breath coming fast, until finally her palm brushed the warm hilt of his sword.

"Ah." His hand snapped down to settle over hers, gripping it hard. "Nice try, Princess."

They stood like that for a long moment, eyes locked, neither moving.

Finally, Emma broke the silence: "I haven't given up on trying to defeat you."

He patted the top of her hand and took a step back, out of her reach. "Darling, I would despair if you did."

With a dramatic swish of his coat, he turned and vanished back up the ladder, quick as a bird.

Emma released a breath and rocked on her feet, her balance not quite right.

Secure in her privacy as she could hope, she padded over to the wash basin and picked up the bar of soap. It felt like good quality and had a vaguely sweet, vegetable smell. Quickly, Emma washed her face and hair, then stripped down so that she could soap and sponge her entire body. The water in the wash basin looked grey and frothy by the time she finished. She, meanwhile, felt magnificently refreshed.

Dressed again, she walked back to the window and looked out at the endless expanse of sea, wishing she could be above deck with everyone else — with him — letting the wind blow dry her hair.

 _I'm going to go crazy down here,_  she thought.

Though, in light of her most recent failed escape attempt…

Maybe she was already there.

* * *

Killian spent most of the night up on deck. Every time he turned to head down to his quarters, the memory of Emma reaching out to touch him made him turn right back around. That it had all been a ruse made no difference. It had still left him on edge.

And none of it would have happened if, like a bloody idiot, had hadn't forgotten to take off his sword before going to see her. Killian swept a hand through his hair, unable to believe that he'd been so sloppy. It was getting entirely too easy to relax around Emma. She had to go. The sooner the better.

Late into the night, when exhaustion finally overtook him, he entrusted the helm to Mullins and snuck back down the ladder. To his intense relief, he found Emma asleep, the blankets tucked up tight underneath her chin, her back turned. She didn't stir when he snuck into the room and carefully peeled a blanket and pillow away for himself. The floor didn't make much of a bed, but it beat the open deck by a long shot. In the dark, he laid awake listening to her breathe until sleep overtook him.

He woke before dawn, startled awake by a twitch in the steady movement of the ship.

Something was wrong.

He raced back up onto the deck.

Mullins was still at the helm. He had turned the ship directly into the wind, slowing her to a near stop.

"What's going on?" Killian demanded, stalking up to him.

"Skylights, sir. Says he sees something."

Killian craned his neck to look up at the crow's nest where Skylights was on watch. He had the best eyes in the business, inexhaustible and sharp as a falcon's. Right now, he had both arms braced, steadying himself as the ship bobbed over the waves.

"Corvettes! Three of them! Due south!" he called down.

Killian leapt to the helm. "Come about! All hands on deck!"

The scramble of men was immediate and everyone was at their stations within minutes, even those who had been asleep below decks were roused and ready at a snap of their captain's fingers. The  _Jolly Roger_  responded eagerly under their practiced hands, cutting a tight corner through the sea until the wind caught full in the sails, lurching the ship forward.

"They're gaining on us fast!" Skylights called from the crow's nest.

The orange glow of dawn lit the horizon to the east. In the increasing light, Killian made out what Skylights had been able to see all along: the white sails and bobbing black hulls of the three ships approaching. He fetched his spyglass and held it to one eye, hoping to spot their colors.

"Two of them are definitely the queen's," Skylights reported.

"Aye," Killian agreed.

But the other one…

 _Bloody hell_.

He took a second look and then a third, willing his eyes to be wrong. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun, making the flag snapping at the top of the ship's mast look red rather than the queen's familiar purple. But as he stared and the rising sun grew brighter, it became clear that he was not mistaken. The third corvette bore a red flag emblazoned with a golden flower: the sigil of Emma's royal family.

What in the world was it doing sailing with two of the queen's war ships? Everything he'd gathered from Emma suggested that her kingdom and Regina's did not speak to one another, did not like one another, and most certainly did not work together. Yet here they were, sailing as one unified front, all three bearing down on him.

"Should we prepare the canons?" Mullins asked.

"Not yet. Once we get up to speed, they won't be able to catch us," Killian replied. There was no ship faster than the  _Jolly Roger_ ; her enchanted timbers granted her unnatural swiftness through the sea. Still, it would take some time to gather speed, even with the sails straining up above and the water parting effortlessly below.

He had barely gotten the order out when the corvettes began to fire, their canon muzzles flashing. Several rounds splashed just shy of the  _Roger_ 's stern, startling everyone, and kept on coming. Killian ducked involuntarily, surprised not just at how quickly the ships had managed to get within range, but at the intensity of the volley.

"Belay that order!" he cried out. "Prepare the canons!"

The ship's heavy ordinance could only shoot broadside, and he wasn't about to turn and present the enemy with his flank, so he directed his men instead to the deck canons which could be swiveled about and had them return fire. None of the small balls made it close to the pursuing ships, but they'd at least made a statement: the  _Jolly Roger_  would not be won without a fight.

The corvettes seemed only too happy to oblige.

Another volley of fire splashed down behind him, one ball even clipping the ship with a splintering crack. Minor damage. But the intent was clear.

They meant to blast him out of the water.

It didn't make sense.

Even traveling overland, the news of Emma's abduction should have still been several days away from reaching her father. He couldn't already know. Not unless the queen had somehow used her black magic to speed word along. But even if she had, why would Emma's parents take part in such an aggressive attack, knowing she was on board? Why would they needlessly risk her life like this? Had Regina somehow gotten word to them first? Perhaps they believed Emma was already dead...

Killian cast a glance back over his shoulder at the warships pursuing him and felt his stomach turn over, a old and bitter rage brewing.

His only consolation at the moment was that he'd obviously gotten in the way of some major design Regina had upon the princess.

But she'd done quality damage to his plot as well.

There was no way now that he could slip into the closest port and leisurely wait for Emma's ransom, not with every navy ship in the two kingdoms after him. He'd have to be more careful and stick to less frequented waters. He'd have to find some way of delivering a message that the king would believe over Regina's lies. And he would have to keep Emma on board the  _Jolly Roger_  until he got it all sorted out.

When the ship finally began to pull away from the three corvettes, slipping out of canon range, his men gave a whoop and clapped their hands. After another half hour of sailing, the enemy ships vanished beyond the horizon.

"Don't get ahead of yourselves, mates," Killian advised them, his voice low. "There's bumpy seas ahead."

"Where are we headed, Captain?" Smee asked.

"Out into the wilds," he replied.

"But sir…if we go much farther out, we'll end up passing by Skull Rock."

"I am aware of that. Thank you, Mr. Smee."

A palpable discontent rippled through his crew. They all remembered, vividly, the last (and only) time Killian had taken them into the treacherous waters surrounding Skull Rock. He stood at the helm with a hard line to his jaw, daring any one of them to cross him. None did, and he let out a breath. They didn't have to get close, he reasoned. Just far enough out so that the navy ships wouldn't find them. It'd be a fine line. But he felt confident that he could walk it.

With the crisis past, he turned the helm back over to Mullins and sought out something to eat.

Emma would need to eat, too, he realized as he picked a hasty meal out of the rations.

_Emma._

He swore under his breath at the thought of her.

The plan had been to keep her locked up in his cabin for, at most, a few more days. Now it looked like he'd be stuck with her in his life, his room, and his  _bed_  a lot longer than that. It wouldn't do. He needed some of his space back. He needed, more than anything, to distance himself from her. And distance was damn hard to come by out at sea. It would continue to be a rare commodity until Emma learned to get along with his crew and started working with him rather than against him.

When he stepped down the ladder into his quarters, she immediately fixed him with an unwavering glare.

"What was all the commotion?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with," he replied. "Come, darling. Eat. I've got plans for you once you're done."

"Do you?"

He pulled out a chair and sat down, his mouth quirking into a smile that he didn't feel.

"It's time you made yourself useful around here. You see, it appears we are in this for the long haul."

Emma's face went pale, and he noticed a tremor in her hands that she tried to stifle by gripping the side of the table. Whatever she'd expected him to say, it obviously wasn't this.

"What do you mean by  _long haul_?" she asked.

"I mean," he started, his hand reaching out against his will to push a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder, "that from here on out, it's a pirate's life for you, Princess."


	3. In Which Emma Meets the Crew

Whom Slumber soothes not — Pleasure cannot please —  
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,  
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,  
The exulting sense—the pulse's maddening play,  
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 3: In Which Emma Meets the Crew

After so many long days of captivity below deck, the brisk sea breeze greeted Emma like a long lost lover, wrapping itself around her and digging its fingers into her hair. She closed her eyes against the bright morning sun and drew in deep, cleansing breaths. The cool, salty tang set her soul to purring.

 _Gods above_ , it felt good to be outside.

A low, snarling voice startled her: "Captain?"

She opened her eyes to find one of the pirates she recognized from the assault on her ship standing a few feet away, one hand gripping a bit of rigging above his head. His overgrown beard reached well past the open collar of his shirt where she could make out the very top of a faded tattoo. A white, knotty scar served as a mangled left ear. His dark eyes shifted back and forth between her and Captain Jones, who stood at her side.

"Starkey," he said with a nod. "I believe you and the Lady Emma have already made each other's acquaintances."

Starkey sneered, showing off several gold capped teeth. When he took a step toward her, he did so with a pronounced limp, his hand moving to grip his thigh.

"That there's yer handiwork, m'lady," he growled. "Took sixteen stitches, it did, to sew up me thigh, with nothing but rum to numb the pain."

A snappy response bubbled up in Emma's chest — her pride begging her to point out that it was hardly  _her_  fault that he'd chosen a life of villainy, and that she'd been wholly justified in defending herself however the hell she saw fit when he came to abduct her — but she swallowed it back down, sensing that this was not the time. A hollow apology struck her as an even worse option; it'd be terribly obvious that she didn't mean it, and he might take it as an insult anyway. So she opted to say nothing at all, allowing her place next to the captain to speak for her. They both knew who had the real power here.

Killian shifted his weight so that his body swayed closer to Emma's.

"You've had worse days, mate," he said with a dismissive wave.

Grumbling something unintelligible, Starkey stepped around Emma and hobbled away, back to his duties.

"Excellent show of patience, love," Killian said. His hand settled at the small of her back, warm and reassuring, nudging her forward. "Now, come along. You've a lot to learn today. Let's not dally."

"What am I going to be learning, exactly?" she asked, still not sure what being forced to embrace  _a pirate's life_  meant.

He smiled. "To start: how to sail. If you're going to be part of my crew, you'll need to at least know the basics."

"Your crew?" She balked. "I'm a prisoner. I'm not going to  _work_  for you."

"If it makes it any easier for you to swallow, then think of it as earning your freedom."

It didn't, but Emma didn't suppose that would make any difference to him. Whatever had happened that morning with the battle she'd overheard, it had apparently convinced Captain Jones that she was going to be on the  _Jolly Roger_  for a while, and he didn't want to keep her locked in his cabin for that length of time any more than she wanted to stay there. So, _ipso facto_ : she had to learn how to get around the ship without either hindering the crew or getting herself killed by one of them.

"Please tell me you at least know starboard from port," Killian continued.

Emma huffed, insulted. "Of course I do."

"Excellent. Then let's start with the grand tour, shall we?"

His arm jutted out. Emma pointedly refused to take it, though she remained close as they crossed the deck, weaving in between bits of rigging and swarthy pirates. In comparison to what the rest of the ship had to offer, Killian's arm span seemed a bubble of relative safety, even though Emma knew, logically, that he was probably the worst of the lot (ruthlessness likely made for excellent social buoyancy among pirates). But he was also a known quantity. Familiar. That alone gave him a comforting presence.

As they walked, Killian pointed out to her all the parts of the ship and its rigging. For approximately the first minute, Emma managed to keep everything straight. Bow and stern: simple. Foremast and mainmast: easy. But once he moved on to the rigging, gesturing to ropes that all looked identical to Emma but had a whole host of different names — sheets, braces, stays, and halliards, each of which came in an endless variety of fore and main — Emma's head began to swim.

Did he really expect her to remember all this?

The way he glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye, his tongue sliding over his teeth as he smirked, made her think not. He was enjoying this. Deriving some deep, male satisfaction from guiding her through his domain, the  _Jolly Roger_ his kingdom.

Below deck, matters got somewhat simpler. He showed her the crew and officer's quarters, the various holds and what each contained, including the main magazine stacked neatly with canon balls and barrels of black powder. It all struck Emma as very utilitarian. She'd expect a pirate ship to differ somehow from every other run-of-the-mill ship she'd been on in her life. But the  _Jolly Roger_  had no flashy treasure vault, no dark and terrifying chamber for housing prisoners. Nothing, in fact, to distinguish it as a pirate ship at all except for the flag fluttering at the top of the mainmast and the decidedly roguish flavor of its captain.

"You'll be spending the day here," he informed her when they reached the ship's galley.

"Seriously? Is that a joke?"

"I'm quite serious."

She crossed her arms. "You think because I'm a woman that you can just stick me in the kitchen?"

"Not at all," Killian replied. "I'm sure that you are just as unfamiliar with preparing a meal as you are with sailing a ship. The fact of the matter is that I need to leave you in trusted hands, and this is where they happen to be."

Emma stiffened. "Wait. Leave me? Where are  _you_  going to be?"

"Captaining the ship." He grinned. "Why? Missing me already?"

She scoffed, even though deep inside she did feel a small pang of alarm at the idea of him to leaving her alone with some strange pirate she'd just met. Darn it, she'd just gotten to know  _this_  one.

Inside, they found the galley empty save for one man who had his back to the door, his arms elbow deep in a bag of flour. When they walked in, he turned and dusted his hands off, clapping them together to form a great, white cloud.

"Morning, Captain." He nodded in Emma's direction. "M'lady."

"Emma, this is Ed Teyente, my quartermaster," Killian said, gesturing between the two with a flick of his chin. "You are to assist him with his duties for the remainder of the day."

Ed looked friendly enough. A bit dwarf-like, really, with his round face, broad shoulders, and short stature. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Emma, but outweighed her by at least sixty pounds. He wore a white apron tied around his waist, a green button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of brown doeskin pants. Not half as intimidating as Starkey, nor as striking as Killian, who departed quickly, before she could protest, with no goodbye other than a shallow bow. Half the light seemed to go out of the room along with him.

"You don't look too pleased about this," Ed said.

Was she that obvious? Growing up royal, Emma had been expertly trained in schooling her features, but for some reason all of her experience seemed to be failing her on board this ship.

"I…I guess I was just hoping to spend some time outside," Emma replied, "rather than trade being stuck in once place below deck for another."

"Don't worry. We won't be down here all day," Ed reassured her.

He set her to kneading dough, helpfully informing her it was something she needn't worry about messing up. Emma shrugged and gave it her all, gamely digging her hands into the cold, sticky dough, working it until her arms ached while Ed rolled out some of his own and stamped biscuits out using the mouth of an empty, overturned tin.

"Do you always do all the cooking?" Emma asked.

"Ain't much cooking that needs done on a ship," Ed replied. "We can only use the wood stove during fair weather. Too dangerous in heavy seas. The whole ship could catch fire. Since we're having such a nice, steady day, we've got to get as much done as we can. I enjoy it well enough, so I usually volunteer. Been my habit a long time now. Near on a decade, I suppose."

She glanced at him in surprise. "You've been on board for that long?"

"Aye. Since even before she became the  _Jolly Roger_."

"What was she called before?" Emma asked.

"Used to be the  _Jewel of the Realm_ ," Ed replied off-handedly, as if this weren't a juicy morsel of information. Emma was careful to keep her focus zeroed in on the dough in her hands, not wanting him to guess how intensely interested she'd become in the history of this ship and her crew. Or, more particularly, her captain.

"That doesn't sound like the name of a pirate ship."

Ed laughed. "It's not. She was a navy ship back then."

"You were in the navy?"

Just like Liam, she realized. And perhaps Killian as well. Though he couldn't possibly have been on board this ship for as long as Ed — a decade ago he'd have been just a boy. Besides, Killian didn't seem the type: his leather, jewelry, devil-may-care attitude, and simmering sexuality all so deeply ingrained in his character that she struggled to imagine him without any of it, uniformed, upstanding, and disciplined.

Ed was nodding. "Aye. I served on board the  _Jewel_  for six years."

"What made you turn pirate?"

"Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"And now?"

"Now, my loyalties are with the captain," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at her in a way that felt like a scolding.

Emma pried just a little further anyway. "Sounds like you've known him for a long time."

"I have. Since he was a lad."

Which meant that even if he hadn't been in the navy, young Killian Jones had at least been in close contact with naval officers. Perhaps his brother had raised him, or had merely brought him around the ship frequently when he'd been at home. She couldn't know for sure without asking directly, and that would give away far too much of her interest in the matter, so she settled for silently mulling it over, spinning different scenarios in her mind as to what would lead a young boy who grew up in and around the navy to turn pirate.

"You can go ahead and judge him and all the rest of us all you want from that castle of yours, m'lady," Ed suddenly said, noting her silence. "But we're out here living in the real world, where life sure as hell ain't fair and where anyone with enough power can do whatever they damn well please. Least us pirates don't pretend otherwise. Least we live by a code."

That hadn't been what Emma had been thinking at all, but she couldn't help asking, "What exactly does your code have to say about kidnapping?"

"It don't have any problem with it. But that ain't what happened to you, m'lady."

"Isn't it? Sure seemed like kidnapping to me."

Ed turned to face her, his mouth forming a hard, serious like. "Captain Jones saved your life."

"He…Sorry. What?"

"You heard me."

"I did. I just…there's no way you can construe what he did as saving me from  _anything_  except maybe boredom. I still don't even know what he's planning to do with me. Ransom, I guess, since none of you have bothered to try to kill or rape or—"

Ed waved her quiet. "We do plan to ransom you. But that's not why we grabbed you."

"Okay," Emma said slowly, not sure where this was going. "Then why did you?"

"To thwart the Evil Queen. She had plans to take you herself, and we have all sworn, above all else, to never let that woman have anything she wants."

"Why?"

"It's a personal matter. One you'll have to ask the captain about."

It sounded an awful lot like pretense to Emma. But, seeing as Ed clearly wasn't bound by logic, it didn't strike her as worth arguing over.

Did he really believe that they'd saved her life? That they were marauding the high seas, thieving and pillaging for the greater good? Perhaps everyone on board had bought into the same story. She, at least, recognized it as a load of pure bullshit. Regina hadn't been plotting against her. She had no motive, especially not after expressly promising Emma safe passage through her kingdom. And Emma's ransom wasn't just some happy side effect — some weird, twisted reward for saving her from an imagined danger. That was just ridiculous.

Although…Captain Jones  _had_  said something about snatching her only because he didn't want someone else to have her.

She frowned and blew out a sigh.

It figured he'd be crazy. That handsome and unattached, something had to be wrong — even outside of the whole pirate business.

Once Ed declared her dough ready, he helped her to roll it out, then let her cut out biscuits while he put the ones he had prepared into the tiny, wood burning stove. Together, they filled a large, canvas bag with the warm, brown little morsels. More than enough, Ed assured her, to last the crew for the next two days.

Next, he took her down into one of the holds to fetch a barrel of apples and some salted pork. Emma hauled the heavy pork while Ed rolled the barrel, the two of them falling into a much more companionable discussion. Emma told him all about her favorite meals that she longed for back home, her mouth watering when she described chocolate. And Ed told her of the soft, flakey turnovers his mother had baked on cold mornings when he'd been a little boy, and how he'd always planned to make them for his own children someday but had never gotten the chance to start a family after being drafted into service at the start of the war against the ogres.

It felt good to be doing something, to be occupied, useful, and engaged in a real conversation rather than the verbal sparring she so often fell into with the captain. As her mood lightened, so did Ed's. When they popped open the barrel of apples, the both of them leaning into the bar they used to lever the top off, he plucked one bright red fruit off the top, polished it against his breast pocket, and handed it to her.

"Take a break, we're almost done here," he said, then smiled broad and earnest when she perched on the edge of the table next to him and took a big bite, all of his gruff pirate demeanor dissolved away into something fatherly, friendly, and so damn  _dwarf-like_  that she couldn't help the spasm of affection that took hold of her heart.

The galley had grown stifling hot inside with the stove running. Ed dabbed sweat off his brow and glanced up at the ceiling overhead.

"Will we be heading up on deck next?" Emma asked.

"Aye. And then, m'lady, I'll be teaching you how to steer a pirate ship."

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon Emma supposed with a smile.

* * *

In his quarters, Killian had maps spread all across his desk. None agreed with one another on where exactly Skull Rock was located, which made plotting a course around it rather difficult. His own fractured notes from the one time he'd visited the gods forsaken isle weren't much better. So, with the day wearing thin, he came to his best estimate, noted down the particulars, and then painstakingly sorted everything back where it belonged. He had left most everything in the captain's quarters unchanged since inheriting the space from Liam, and that included his brother's byzantine filing system. He'd always hated it. Had spent many hours, in fact, complaining to Liam about it while serving as his lieutenant. But now he held onto it as one of the last tangible pieces of his brother, the entire room a shrine to his memory.

Up above, the steady footsteps and muted chatter of his crew multiplied as meal time approached. Killian had been holed up in his cabin all day, missing lunch while he used his Emma-free hours to bathe and sleep before settling in to get some real work done.

How had she managed on her first day as a pirate, he wondered?

Ed was a steady fellow, the sort who had weathered a lot of rough seas without ever batting an eye, and he had earned the respect of everyone on board. No one would bother Emma under Ed's watch. Killian had no doubt that his crew had behaved themselves. But Emma? She was another matter entirely.

Curious now, he pulled on his coat and climbed the ladder up onto deck, meaning to go find her and see how she had been getting on.

As it happened, he didn't have to look far.

She stood mid-deck, the gentle breeze shifting through her long blonde hair, her eyes squinted against the setting sun which showered her from head to toe in radiant gold. All around her, his cut-throat pirate crew scurried about, obediently setting up a stately dinner on the middle of his ship. The table from the galley sat just in front of the mast, chairs crowded around it, a few perilously close to bits of rigging that would swing around hard enough to brain the poor soul sitting there should the wind suddenly turn. Emma adjusted the silverware around the plate at the head of the table, while Ed arranged large platter of salted pork into a spiral.

Neither noticed Killian as he approached.

"Something going on here I should know about?" he asked, startling them both.

Ed fumbled all over himself to explain: "Aye! Captain! I thought that…or — erm — Princess Emma wanted, sir, with the weather being so fair…we thought we might dine on deck tonight. Turley offered to help move the table and chairs. And Mullins is down in the galley right now baking apples—"

"Mullins?" Killian interrupted, surprised. He hadn't pegged Mullins as someone Emma could win over quickly, seeing as she'd knocked the man out with a water pitcher only a few days ago.

"Aye, sir. Apparently he has a family recipe using molasses and rum."

Killian glanced to Emma, who stood leaning with one hand against the back of a chair, her head cocked in a confident, victorious way that made her look so bloody beautiful he had to physically fight back the desire to pull her close and kiss her. Behind her, the rest of his crew paused, everyone waiting to see how he would react.

"I'd hate for all the lady's hard work to go to waste," he said after a moment. "Tonight, we'll eat under the stars."

Emma sat him at the head of the table, then sat herself at the other end with Ed and Turley at either hand. The rest of the crew sat where they pleased, everyone looking uncomfortable until Emma started the meal by spearing a piece of pork with her fork and flopping it unceremoniously onto her plate. With that, everyone else followed suit and dug in. Mullins appeared a few minutes later bearing a bowl full of steaming hot apple slices smothered in a sweet brown coating.

From his place at the head of the table, Killian ate silently, blocking out the conversation going on around him in favor of observing what was happening at the other end.

Ed and Turley looked utterly besotted, the both of them hanging on her every word, their eyes as big and wet and round as a puppy's whenever they glanced up at her. She had her head inclined toward Ed, telling him something that Killian couldn't make out over the other voices. Whatever it was made Ed break out in a loud guffaw, his hand coming down to slap the table.

"You want some, Captain?" Mullins asked.

Killian snapped to attention and found Mullins holding out the bowl of baked apples. With a nod, he let the man spoon a heaping pile onto his plate. He eyed the fruit with suspicion before spearing one with his fork. In all the years he'd known Mullins, the man had never once expressed an interest in cooking. Aside from the time he'd offered to slaughter a goat they'd picked up on trade, Killian didn't think Mullins had once been involved in any of the ship's food production. He prepared himself for the worst as he bit into the warm slice of apple and chewed, Mullins watching him hopefully.

It surprised him. Not exactly tavern quality, and he thought it tasted like it might be missing an ingredient or two, but quite serviceable in spite of that.

"S'good," he said with a nod and took another bite.

Mullins beamed.

"I had no idea you were such a woman, Mullins." Skylights sniggered. "The princess cut off your balls after she wiped the floor with you, or what?"

The carefree atmosphere around the table vanished in an instant.

"Shut your godsdamned trap," Mullins shot back. "Who invited you down out of the crow's nest anyway?"

Skylights tossed back a long drag of rum, then laughed. "Guess you still got at least one left. But I'm not the only one who sees that you got yourself right pussy whipped by the bint."

"Hey!" Ed shot to his feet. "There'll be no bad-mouthing the lady at this table!"

"Weren't bad-mouthin' her, just pointing out the obvious."

Turley unsheathed the dagger he kept at his waist. "You're digging your own grave here, Skylights. Shut your ass before I come over there and do it for ya."

Killian had just opened his mouth to tell all four of them to sit down and knock it off when Emma brought silence to the whole table by standing up, snatching Ed's sword as she did so, and announcing: "There's no shame in getting beaten by a worthy opponent. I'll take on any one of you to prove it." Her eyes scanned the crowd, hot and challenging. "Any volunteers?"

His jaw slack with astonishment, Killian watched as she glanced past him, over the frozen faces of his crew, until her gaze landed squarely on Skylights.

"Afraid you might get whipped by the  _bint_?" she asked.

The whole crew let out a roar, Mullins and several others banging their forks and tin cups of rum against the table top until Killian's plate nearly rattled off the edge and into his lap. Hands shoved at Skylights, propelling him out of his chair, even as the rest continued to jeer and shout. When Emma swept confidently around the side of the table to meet him, testing the weight of Ed's sword in her hand, Skylight's face went visibly pale. But he collected himself quickly and began popping back and forth from one foot to the other, an exaggerated smile plastered on his face.

"Sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"Are you?" Emma retorted.

They moved the table back to give the pair room. Killian leaned against the edge of it, his arms and ankles crossed. He had half a mind to put a stop to this whole thing, but he wanted to see her in action, and he figured he could step in if things went too far, if there was any chance she might actually get hurt.

Skylights made the first move, lunging forward, his sword making a wide arc as he swung. Emma countered easily with an efficient flick of her wrist, then took a step back to throw him off balance, allowing him to fall forward into striking distance. Someone had trained her well. She made short work of Skylights, his sword clattering to the deck after just a handful of exchanges, the leading edge of her own weapon poised with deadly accuracy at his throat.

"She's bloody amazing," Ed whispered.

"Aye," Killian replied just as quietly, his voice thick.

Shame faced, Skylights retreated back into the crowd.

"Anyone else care to try?" Emma asked, her stance losing some of its threatening posture, becoming more playful, more joking. She was playing the crowd masterfully.

Everyone took a turn, except for Ed and Turley — who both refused to raise a sword against the princess, even in jest — and the trio who had been unfortunate enough to face her during the abduction. She won every round, only Bill Jukes giving her a real challenge. The two remained locked in heated battle for a long time, Bill close to winning at several breathless points where Killian's heart nearly stopped at seeing Emma's arms shaking under the assault of her stronger, well-rested opponent. When she finally threw him off, sending his sword flying, she grinned and blew a disheveled bit of blonde hair out of her flushed face.

"How about you, Captain?" she asked. "Care to give me a go?"

Gods. She had  _no_  idea.

"You're exhausted, love," he replied.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Worried about me?"

"No. I just prefer a fair fight."

"Okay then. I'll catch my breath first." She strode over and sat down on the edge of the table next to him, her feet swinging free just above the deck, Ed's sword positioned between her knees. The last battle had, indeed, left her out of breath. Killian could feel her shoulder brushing his every time she inhaled.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered to her. "You've made your point — won them over."

"I know. But I want to see what you've got. Just how good  _are_  you with that sword?"

"Second to none, darling."

"We'll see."

He had no doubt that if he'd met her unprepared, unsuspecting, she'd have him beat. But he knew what to expect from her now and had been watching her fight. She had obviously devoted herself to daily practice. The forms she struck at times were so textbook, so flawless, that she'd she'd turned battle into art, her lean, lithe body poised and graceful and strong. But she lacked real world experience, and that was where he felt he had the clear upper hand.

After a few minutes, Emma took a long drink of rum, then slid off the table onto her feet.

"I'm ready if you are, Captain."

"No turning back now," he warned her.

"I wouldn't think of it. Come on. Show me what a  _real_  pirate is made of."

His men hooted and cheered, at least half of them now so drunk that he doubted they'd even remember seeing this in the morning. Distantly, he recalled a time when he'd been so much younger and more naive, when he'd routinely chastised anyone found drinking on his brother's ship. Now he rarely spent a day without having one himself. The rabble-rousing and debauchery that so often colored life on the  _Jolly Roger_  didn't bother him — not  _really_  — but striding toward Emma, her face alight with goodness and innocence, her presence a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day, he became suddenly aware of how much Liam's death had changed everything.

"Ready?" Emma asked, her sword raised.

He unsheathed his own and gently tapped her blade with his, the two swords ringing one another like a bell.

She came at him.

It was a familiar move, one which reminded Killian vividly of learning to sword fight with his brother aboard the deck of this very ship. His coat billowed out behind him as he swung around, avoiding her blow, letting her step past him. She recovered quickly, countered his attack. They parried. Gave ground. Gained ground. Met one another and pushed one another away. All across the deck, he pursued her and she pursued him, gold and black, perfectly matched. A thing of beauty.

As the game wore on, Emma began to dig deep, pulling out moves he hadn't expected her to know.

"Good form," he said, their faces close as he managed, at the last minute, to catch her sword with his.

Her eyes locked with his, and she hesitated.

Only for a split second. Less than a heartbeat...

"But not good enough," he added, catching her leg with the back of his foot, knocking her off balance so that a strong push sent her stumbling backwards, right into the mast.

He followed, his heart pounding as his sword ground down the length of hers, scraping and creeping, leaving them both breathless the moment his hilt met hers. Still, he pressed closer. His knee brushed the inside of her thigh. Beneath her thick lashes, he could see her eyes dark and dilated, her chest heaving.

"Bit of advice." He dipped his head so that his lips hovered close to her ear as he spoke. "Quit while you still can."

The breathy sound of her mouth falling open made his eyes flutter shut.

"Why would I do that…?" she asked, her arms relaxing just enough to let him sway into her, his nose brushing her hair, "…when I'm winning?"

His eyes snapped open, but not before her knee shot up between his legs and sent him sprawling backwards, gasping. He should have seen it coming — she'd tried to do the same thing once before, after all — but he'd been so wrapped up, had been enjoying their duel so much, that he hadn't figured she might fight dirty.

"That's breaking the rules, lass," he managed, still half bent over.

Behind him, he heard a pained grumble of agreement from the crew.

"I don't remember setting out any rules," she replied. "Do you need a moment? Or would you like to continue?" Her sword waved, drawing a little pattern in the air in front of his face.

"No, no." He chuckled and bowed in defeat. "Congratulations. You bested me. I can count on one hand the number of people who've managed that."

Magnanimous in victory, she fetched him a chair and a cup of rum. He downed the drink and lowered himself into the chair only when she pulled one up beside him for herself. Ed clapped her on the back with a big grin, then traded her a fresh apple in exchange for his sword back.

Darkness had fallen, so that only the big moon in the sky and flickering lanterns lit the deck. The men who had been up since early that morning excused themselves below deck to sleep, Starkey passing out before he even made it that far so that Bill Jukes and Skylights had to drag him to his bed. Ed and Mullins both began to clean up, quietly trundling dishes and leftover food back to the galley. With his stomach full and the pain in his groin beginning to abate, Killian felt as close to content as he could remember being in a very long time.

"How did you come to be so handy with a sword?" he asked. "Doesn't strike me as typical for your sort."

"My sort?" Emma tossed one arm over the back of her chair and turned her body to face him.

"Princesses," he clarified.

"Well, my family's not exactly typical."

"Ah, yes. Snow White and her Prince Charming. I've heard of them. Though I've never been sure how much of it to believe."

Emma sighed wistfully. "Both of my parents have always told me that sometimes you have to be willing to fight for what you want. Whether it's for the good of your people, or for love, or family. And if it ever came down to actual  _fighting_ , they wanted me to be equipped to succeed. My father taught me how to use a sword from the time I could hold one. And then when I got older, I started training with one of his trusted knights."

"He taught you well. You're incredible. Bloody amazing."

This was, by far, the most open she had ever been with him, all of the walls she'd put up around herself to avoid telling him anything personal or ever giving him an inch in their verbal sparring matches gone.

They were alone now on deck, everyone else having either passed out below or gone about their own business. Ed and Mullins hadn't reappeared yet from their last trip down the galley. Killian felt at ease leaning in close to her, twirling a finger in the ends of her hair, and adding: "I told you that you'd make one hell of a pirate."

She looked away, all of her walls slamming back into place.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Of course."

Her eyebrows drew together and she walked over to lean against the side of the ship and look down into the water below. Killian followed even though he got the impression he was no longer welcome at her side.

"What happened this morning?" she asked, not meeting his eyes. "Who attacked us?"

Her slip of the tongue did not go unnoticed.  _Us_. Not  _you_. As if subconsciously she considered herself part of his crew, part of his life on this ship.

"It was the Evil Queen," he replied, figuring that he could tell her at least that much.

"Ed said that you have some vendetta against her. That it's personal."

"Did he?"

"Said I should ask you about it."

"You can ask, darling. But we won't be discussing it." Not right now, anyway. Not yet.

She didn't press, just moved on, the wind shifting her hair across her neck and shoulders as she turned her face up to meet his eyes. "Ed also said that you saved my life. That the queen had her own plans to kidnap me."

"Aye. That's what we heard. I have spies inside of her regime."

"What would she want with me?" Emma asked.

"I don't know."

She scrutinized him long and hard before finally breaking eye contact, her shoulders sagging with a sigh. "I don't think you're lying. I've got this thing with lies. But…it doesn't make sense."

"In my experience, the queen's nefarious plots rarely do." He shrugged. "She's evil purely for the sake of it."

Emma's hands clenched and her eyes searched the waves, troubled and full of thought. Perhaps if she stewed on it long enough, she might come up with some answer as to the queen's motives. And if she could give him a solid lead on how to destroy his enemy, then perhaps he could be convinced to forget about her ransom. In the meantime…

"We both ought to get some sleep," he suggested.

She nodded and started toward the door leading down into his quarters.

"Ah. Not so fast, love." He caught her by the arm, spinning her around. "You're a pirate now. Part of the crew."

It took her a moment to work out what he meant.

"You mean...? You want me to sleep down in the  _crew's quarters_?" she asked, aghast.

"That is generally how it's done."

"I…seriously? No!"

He stepped closer, unable to keep his distance despite the memory of what had happened the last time he invaded her personal space. "You would rather share a bed with me then?"

Her jaw formed in an angry line, the answer to his question clearly  _yes_ , though she was unwilling to say so.

"We wouldn't have to share the bed any more than we've been doing the past few days," she finally replied.

"I'm not going to keep sleeping on the floor, love. Not on my own ship."

"What happened to being a gentleman?" she snapped.

"Pirate. Remember?" he said with a smirk. "I'm going to be sleeping in my own bed tonight. You can sleep there with me or in your own bed in the crew quarters. But I will not have you on the floor."

For a second, Emma looked like she might hit him. "You're a cocky bastard for someone who took a knee to the nuts today. You know that?"

The word  _cocky_  set his mind to overflowing with potential retorts, but she didn't give him a chance to use any of them, just turned on her heel and stormed away, across the deck toward the crew's quarters. Disappointment weighed heavy in his stomach. As much as he wanted his own space back, he'd hoped she'd fight harder to stay there, near him. It would be a mite lonely without her breathing beside him in the dark.

Best he not get too used her presence, he thought with a frown. Emma wasn't exactly his to keep. Far from it.

He dropped down the ladder into his cabin and tossed his coat across the table, laying down his sword on top of it. He'd just unbuttoned his waistcoat when someone knocked at the door — an impolite and insistent banging. When he climbed the ladder and opened it, a solid wall of something flat and pinstriped met him, nearly knocking him down as it was shoved through the doorway. The mattress landed with a thud on the floor at his feet.

A second later, Emma followed, slamming the door shut behind her.

"What's this?" he asked.

"My bed from the crew's quarters," she snapped.

He let out a breathy laugh. "You brought it all the way back up here?"

"It's not like you left me much choice. Now help me get it made up or get out of the way." She shouldered past him, scooting the mattress along the floor with her feet until she had it wedged between the bed and the table.

To be honest, nothing about Emma surprised him anymore. Except, perhaps, how difficult it was becoming with every passing day to imagine life without her.


	4. In Which Everyone Gets Wet

She walks the waters like a thing of Life!  
And seems to dare the elements to strife.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 4: In Which Everyone Gets Wet

If he hadn't already been on the other side of the law, the sight of Killian Jones in just his shirtsleeves would have been enough to deem him criminal. For a long time, Emma laid awake on the lumpy mattress she had hauled into his quarters and tried to scrub from her mind the image of him standing there, smiling at her with his waistcoat entirely undone and the loose, black shirt he wore underneath hanging open halfway down his chest. It had taken everything in her power not to stare, and then required removing herself from temptation completely by walking to the other side of the room in order to overcome her subsequent desire to reach out, hook a finger on the edge of his shirt, and pop another button free.

It didn't help that he had done everything short of kissing her during their sword match. The memory of his stubble brushing rough against her cheek, his nose nuzzling in her hair, his leg solid between her knees…

Emma had to stop and take a steadying breath.

She didn't understand this attraction.

Sure, he was handsome. But Emma had met plenty of handsome men, and none had affected her in quite this way. Perhaps being at sea was to blame. Maybe the stress and isolation of life on board the  _Jolly Roger_  had activated some primitive part of her brain that thought the world had gone to hell, and that she had better sink her claws into the best available male and start making babies  _immediately_  if she wanted the human race to survive.

Because… _gods._

This was not something she wanted to be feeling.

 _He's not a good man_ , she reminded herself, repeating it like a mantra in her head.  _He is_ _ **not**_ _a good man._

It didn't sound convincing, even in light of everything she knew about him. Or…maybe because of everything she knew about him.

He hadn't lied about Regina. She knew that much.

But Emma still couldn't figure out why the Evil Queen would want to kidnap her. Their kingdoms had always been content to live side by side under a policy of mutual disinterest. Lately, Regina had broken that pattern by pushing for an alliance against the ogres; she wanted to join forces. Outside of an outlandish plot to coerce her parents into sending troops by holding their daughter hostage, Emma didn't see what Regina could hope to gain by snatching her. Unless it had all been a ruse to begin with — a strategically placed bit of misinformation designed to find its way to Killian Jones, draw him out, and force him to make a move.

Emma felt entirely too uneasy with the thought that her purpose here might, in some convoluted way, be to destroy him.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, she slept, and then woke to Captain Jones nudging her in the side with his bare foot as he climbed out of bed.

"Up and about, darling. It's morning."

Bleary eyed and exhausted, she pulled the blankets up over her face and groaned.

"Morning is a relative term."

"The sun is up," he clarified. The mattress shifted as he kneeled down on it beside her and tugged the covers back from her eyes. She found him hovering over her, looking delightfully sleep rumpled with his shirt untucked and the laces on his pants loose. It didn't make her want to get out of bed so much as it made her seriously consider pulling him into it with her.

"Best get going," he said. "It's going to be a long day."

She sighed. "Aren't they all?"

"Aye. But there's uneasy waves this morning. Could be a storm on our horizon."

He offered her his hand. Reluctantly, she took it, allowing him to help her up off the floor.

"You can tell that from down here, just by the movement of the ship?"

"Most experienced captains could," he replied with a shrug. "The sea is a capricious mistress, and a sailor lives and dies by his ability to read her moods."

"This morning you're a sailor, huh? Last night you were a pirate," Emma teased.

He licked his lips and grinned. "Is that a complaint? All the ladies I've met have quite throughly enjoyed the fact that I turn dastardly by night."

"I'm not most ladies," Emma reminded him.

"You are quite right about that, darling."

She watched as he stepped away from her and began to dress for the day, perching on the side of the bed to pull on his boots. Without the sword and coat, he looked almost approachable. Like a regular man rather than a dread pirate captain.

"It's funny that you mention it, actually," she said, caught up in the intimacy of the moment. "Because you  _were_  a sailor once. Right? You and Liam?"

Killian's blue gaze flashed up to meet hers, his expression solidifying into something passive and unreadable, as it always did whenever she brought up his brother.

"My, my," he grumbled. "You and Ed had a lot to discuss yesterday. Didn't you?"

"He didn't say anything," Emma replied. "I figured it out on my own. You kept several of Liam's books that he only could have gotten in the service. And I just assumed, since the two of you were obviously so close, that you must have served along side him. Was he a captain, too?"

For a long, silent second Killian stared at her, and she thought he might refuse to answer. But he must have felt the warmth and familiarity of waking up together same as she did, because he dropped his boot back on the floor, braced both hands against the edge of the bed, and nodded.

"Aye. He captained this very ship. I was his lieutenant." A humorless smirk crossed his face. "You look surprised."

"I am," Emma admitted. "I guess I'm having a hard time picturing it."

"What? Me as a man of honor?"

"No." It didn't stretch her imagination at all to generate an image of him as a man more than willing to give his life fighting for his people. "I mean, I can't see you as some rule-abiding, stick-in-the-mud lieutenant. Plus…there's the uniform." She pressed her fingers against her lips to try to hide her smile. Her own kingdoms naval uniforms were quite fetching, although they did include a ridiculous number of silly hats. "Do you still have it?" she asked, not daring to hope.

"Would it please you if I did?" he countered.

 _Oh gods._ "You do!"

An attractive blush added the slightest hint of pink to his cheeks. "Parts of it," he admitted. "Not the whole thing."

"Can I see it? Whatever you kept."

Throughly embarrassed, he pulled on his boots with an overabundance of force. "No. We don't have time for this. Now get dressed so that we can at least eat breakfast before going about our duties."

Amused, Emma set about getting ready for the day.

The revelation that Killian had, in fact, once been an honest naval officer made several large pieces of Jones family history fall into place. It seemed clear to her now that Liam had died while captaining the  _Jewel of the Realm_ , and that whatever had happened had been bad enough to drive his little brother and the rest of his crew, including Ed, against the queen they had vowed to serve — bad enough to make them swear vengeance on her under the guise of piracy.

Knowing this didn't wash away every bad thing the captain had done over the intervening years. But Emma thought, at the very least, that she understood how he had gotten there.

"So, just what are my duties today?" she asked as she tied back her hair. "What charming member of your crew am I going to be assigned to help?"

"Today?" He glanced over his shoulder at her as he pulled his coat on. "That would be me, love."

 _Good_.

Up on deck, a cool, brisk wind met them, tasting of rain. Whitecaps splashed against the hull. Emma couldn't make out an approaching storm on the horizon, but a blanket of off-white clouds obscured the sky, giving the whole day an unsettled, sickly feel. It was a relief to drop back down below deck again and return to the homey space of the galley. A small group of men sat around the table eating breakfast over a hand of cards. When Killian entered the room, Smee immediately sidled up to him, hat in hand.

"Sir, I think you ought to reconsider our course," he said under his breath, though Emma was close enough to overhear. "With this weather, we can't risk getting too close to Skull Rock."

"I'm aware of the issue," Killian replied flatly.

"I'm not going back there, Captain. Not again."

"You needn't trouble yourself, Mr. Smee. That is not part of the plan."

Consumed with curiosity, Emma sat down next to him and ate her entire breakfast without tasting a single bite. Finally, as they left the noisy galley together and walked out into the empty corridor leading back up on deck, she reached forward and grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

"What's Skull Rock?" she asked.

"You heard that?" He tugged his arm out of her grip and kept walking.

"It sounds dangerous."

"It is."

"Then why are we going there?"

He sighed and came to a stop on the stairs, then spun to face her. "As you undoubtedly heard me tell Smee, we're not."

"Okay. Not going there. But we're going to get close?"

"Yes. We are. The queen is hunting us, and she knows exactly where we are headed. Which means that we need to take an unconventional route. One that her ships will not follow."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "This place is bad enough that even war ships are afraid to sail near it, but you've been there before?"

He looked down at the floor. "Aye. Once. And lost five men."

" _Five_?" That was a third of the crew. "Gods. How? To what?"

"Demons," he replied darkly, then turned and continued up onto deck.

For most of the morning, Killian stood at the helm, making minor adjustments to their course and consulting a booklet he kept in his jacket pocket. Emma sat behind him, working at a bit of loose rope he'd given her, tying and retying knots as he instructed. Some proved a real trick to master, leaving her fingers tender by the time she worked them out.

When she presented him with a flawless bowline on a bight knot, Killian nodded approvingly.

"You're a quick study."

"Yeah. At this rate, I might be able to do actual work around here someday," Emma said.

"This is real work," he replied seriously.

Emma grumbled and rolled her eyes. It sure didn't feel like real work. Every other member of the crew was busy preparing for the worst: lashing down cargo, double-checking the rigging, and making sure every inch of every seam on the ship was water-tight. Her morning of taking the "rabbit 'round the big tree" seemed piddling and juvenile in comparison.

Killian glanced down across the deck once before holding out his hand.

"All right, lass. Come here."

"What? Why?"

"Just…trust me, darling."

His fingers waggled, and he looked so open and inviting. Her hand closed around his. He pulled over to the wheel, maneuvering her body in front of his.

"One hand here," he said slowly, lifting her right hand to place it on one of the pegs. His other hand slid down the length of her left arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. "And the other hand…here."

Emma stood holding the wheel, his hands on top of hers, his arms closing her in. He kept a buffer of space between their bodies, but even so she knew he had to be aware of the way her breathing grew uneven and the way her skin flushed with the heat of her racing heart, though she doubted he'd need even that much evidence to deduce what this was doing to her. The fact that she hadn't moved away or bruised one of his ribs with her elbow for daring to be so forward was proof enough that his advances weren't  _entirely_  unwanted.

"Now just keep her steady," he said, his voice a low, sensual rumble in her ear.

She hoped to hell that he couldn't feel the way her arms trembled.

"I can't decide if you're brave or just stubborn," she said, hoping to smother her out of control physical reaction with conversation.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, getting this close to me didn't work out so well for you last time."

He laughed. "Yes, well…there are some risks I'm willing to take."

"Like Skull Rock?" She flexed her fingers underneath his, still struggling to turn down her response. "You're willing to risk going there if it means keeping me away from Regina?"

"If it meant that woman's downfall, I would travel to Skull Rock a dozen times over," he replied.

"You hate her that much?"

This time,  _he_  trembled.

"Yes. I hate her that much." He sounded dangerous, his voice colored not just by a thirst for vengeance but by real rage. "She destroyed everything I cared about. Ripped away the last bit of family I had in this world."

"Liam must have been very dear to you." Emma allowed the motion of the ship the sway her body closer to his, compelled to comfort him any way she could.

"Aren't you going to tell me that I should forgive her?" Killian asked. "Aren't you going to try to convince me that my brother would have wanted more for me than a life devoted to vengeance?"

"No," Emma replied.

From what she knew of Regina, he might do the entire realm a favor by deposing her. Plus, Emma knew that she might never understand the sort of hole Liam's death had left in his heart, or how he could ever hope to mend it. She had no judgement to pass. No sage advice to offer.

He let out a breath that whispered across her neck. "Good."

The wheel turned a fraction under their hands, his guiding hers.

If any of the other pirates noticed her standing there in the captain's arms, none stopped to look. Emma quickly forgot that they had an audience, the warmth of Killian at her back absorbing all of her attention.

It would be so easy, she thought, to lean into him. To turn around and move her lips up the smooth column of his neck. To run her fingers across the stubble along his jaw. She closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Whether he'd be rough or gentle. What he'd taste like…

A cold gust of wind brought her eyes open again.

Behind her, Killian swore under his breath.

"Looks like we may not escape this tempest after all," he muttered.

Towering black clouds slowly crept into view over the horizon. As they grew closer, the waves increased in number, rocking the ship underneath them. Emma was glad for the captain's arms around her as one particularly large swell threw her back into the wall of his chest.

"You should get down below," he said, one arm latching tight around her waist to hold her steady.

"Could this wreck the ship?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, love. I haven't meant a storm yet that could best the  _Jolly Roger_."

A flash of lightning lit up the thundercloud, as if challenging him on that point.

With the wind whipping the sea around them into an angry froth, Killian passed Emma off to Turley, who escorted her down into the relative stillness and safety of the captain's quarters. The ship rocked over a huge wave right after he left, leaving her pinwheeling her arms to stay standing. Carefully, she sank down onto the floor, keeping her back to the wall and her feet braced.

He'd get them through this, she thought, confident in his skill.

All she had to do was hold on.

* * *

The corvette bobbed over rough waves, its sea anchor out and its sails reefed against the heavy wind. The frigate accompanying it floated close by, its red and gold flag flapping hard against the face of the oncoming storm. From his place atop the corvette's forecastle, the Huntsman watched the lightning flash and drew his heavy coat tight around his shoulders. The musky scent of animal fur soothed his senses. A deep longing for dry land and the dark forest wracked him.

Life on board a ship did not suit him. He did not want to be here.

But no one refused the Evil Queen. Not even him.

The corvette's captain stepped up beside him, one hand clutching his hat to his head and the other gripping the ship's rail for purchase against the roll of the waves.

"Best hold on to something," he said. "Going overboard in a storm is bad enough. But ending up overboard out here is even worse."

The Huntsman made no reply, unconcerned.

"This isn't the friendly sea you're used to," the captain continued. "There's creatures living in these waters you sure as hell don't want to meet. And a storm like this is liable to stir all of them up."

They had been over this once before, back when the Huntsman had first suggested this route. The captain had been vehemently opposed, citing tales of whirlpools, six headed dragons, and whole ships snatched from the surface of the sea by monsters more massive than anything dreamed of on land. They had butted heads over it until the Huntsman finally pulled rank and overruled him. The queen herself had sent him here and granted him the authority to act on her behalf. So, in the end, the captain had been left with no choice but to follow his command.

"I still don't think they will come this way," he grumbled.

"That is exactly why they will," the Huntsman assured him.

The pirate they were chasing was crafty enough to have evaded capture by the authorities for years. That meant he had at least some idea how they operated and of just how far they would be willing to risk their lives to bring him to justice. All agreed that none but the exceptionally brave and desperate strayed this far out into the wide open blue. With a kidnapped princess on board and the combined forces of two kingdoms after him, this pirate was clearly both. He'd come this way. The Huntsman was sure of it.

He gazed across the water at the frigate, whose crew had been more than willing to ply these dangerous seas if it meant bringing to justice the man who had abducted their beloved princess. A noble lot of men, to be certain. But potential trouble.

Because the Huntsman's mission here wasn't just to use his considerable amount of skill to track down an elusive bit of prey.

Not even the corvette's captain knew his real purpose.

That he had been dispatched to ensure Princess Emma never returned to her kingdom alive.

Underneath his coat, he gripped the hilt of his sword, grim and focused. Though it did not disturb him, neither did it give him any pleasure to imagine the task ahead. But, gods willing, once it was done, he would be allowed to vanish back into his half-wild existence in the woods, and that gave him comfort.

For now, like a panther poised in the shadows, he awaited his chance to strike.

* * *

The storm blew itself out by late afternoon.

For what felt like hours, Emma had been stuck in the captain's quarters, watching rain lash against the windows as they rode over the massive waves, everything in the room shifting forward and back, the lamp above the table swinging like a pendulum. The ship had creaked and groaned under the stress but seemed none the worse for wear as Emma emerged once again onto the rain-washed deck, sick to her stomach and weak-legged.

The bright sunlight dazzled her. She shaded her eyes and looked up at the sails, checking to see that none had been damaged, before casting her gaze back to the helm where Killian stood, his black hair wet and sticking up in wild abandon where he'd run his hands through it. Ed stood next to him, the two of them handling a complicated instrument that Emma didn't have a name for.

"Ah! Princess!" Ed saw her approaching first. "How did your first storm treat you? Did the captain's quarters get a new coat of paint?"

She crossed her arms. "Very funny. And, no. I managed to keep my breakfast down just fine."

"Steady as an ox, you are, my dear," Ed said with a toothy grin.

Emma had never once, in her whole life, been compared to an ox. She chose to accept it as a compliment.

"What are you doing?" she asked and gestured to the device in the captain's hand.

"Taking our bearings," he replied.

Ed added: "Trying to figure out where in damnation we are."

The consternation Emma felt at finding out they were apparently lost at sea did not quite overpower her nausea, so she she accepted this explanation without any fuss. Surely, a whole ship full of experienced pirates and ex-naval officers could handle getting blown off course by a simple storm. She left them to their work and strolled from one end of the ship to the other, working strength back into her legs. The sea lapped at the side of the boat with content little slaps now and the rain had given the air a cool, clean smell that quickly scrubbed away the last of Emma's lingering malaise.

She walked up to Turley, who was busy letting out the sails on the foremast. The rain had plastered his hair down over his ears and wetted his shirt clean through. He looked cold and miserable, his jaw clenched tight as he worked.

"Can I help?" she asked him.

"Oh! M'lady! Um…no. No, thank you. I've got this." He tied off a bit of rope and glanced over his shoulder at the captain, who had a map spread open across the helm and a vexed look on his face. "Shouldn't you be down below?" Turley asked.

"Why?"

"Because it's safer."

Emma frowned and glanced around. "The storm's over. Right? What's there to worry about?"

Turley licked his lips and shook his head. "Um…nothin', I guess. I mean…if it's okay by the captain, then I guess it's okay by me?" His voice turned up at end of his sentence, turning it into a question. "Sorry, m'lady, but I can't chat. Got work to do 'fore we can get going, ya see…"

"Right. Of course." She waved at him to continue.

As she made her way back to the captain, she took a hard look at the rest of the crew. Except for Starkey — who, as far as she could tell, never displayed any emotion except for abrasive discontent — everyone looked uneasy. All of them stole regular glances at the captain, as if waiting for him to pass some important verdict.

Were they more lost than she thought? She didn't think anything short of falling off the edge of the world would faze this lot. In fact, the only thing she'd ever heard anyone on the ship express real fear of was…

_Skull Rock._

Of course. They were all waiting to see just how close the winds had blown them toward that dreadful place. Judging from the dark look on the captain's face as he double checked their bearings, she guessed the news would not be good.

"Is everything okay?" she asked him.

Killian didn't look up at her. "Everything's fine, love."

"Doesn't look fine to me," she said quietly, then dropped her voice even lower to ask, "Are we close to Skull Rock?"

"Yes. We are," he replied, loud enough so everyone would hear. He folded the map, tapped it against his other hand, and squinted as he looked up at the sun sitting low on the horizon. "But not so close that the  _Jolly Roger_  is in any danger from the creatures living there. The weather is fair now, so we should be able to sail right around the place without ever having to set eyes upon it."

A palpable shudder of relief rippled through the crew. Then, with a rush of movement and chatter, life on board the  _Jolly Roger_  snapped back to normal, the shift in mood so sudden it left Emma dazed.

"Go eat something if you can manage it," Killian told her. When she didn't immediately do as he asked, he added with a smirk, "I'll be down soon, darling."

As if she would be waiting in breathless anticipation for him to join her.

Clinging to her last remaining vestiges of defiance, Emma remained on deck. She crossed her arms and leaned against the railing to look out across the ocean as the ship turned back on course, the steady sinking of the sun to the west stretching her shadow out long behind her. In all directions, she could see nothing but water. She wondered just how far out they had traveled, and how far away they were now from the shores of her kingdom.

Had news of her kidnapping traveled that far?

If it had, she hoped that her parents could somehow sense that she was okay. It pained her to think of them unable to sleep at night for worry that she had been murdered by pirates. Gods knew she had put them through quite enough already with her tavern hopping, sword fighting, and stubborn refusal to do just about everything the world expected a princess to do.

She was wondering what her mother might say if she invited a certain pirate captain to the next ball when a speck of movement to the right of the blinding sun caught her eye.

She blinked, certain she had imagined it.

But the speck only resolved into a distinct, black dot.

Stiff with alarm, she peered back at the rest of the crew, curious if anyone else had seen it. Killian stood occupied, speaking in low tones to Ed who, despite all assurances, still looked concerned. Turley was halfway up the foremast, still working on the sails. And Starkey sat swigging rum with one hand and clutching his injured thigh with the other. He sent her a menacing glare when he spotted her looking his way.

No one had noticed a thing.

She turned back and saw that the dot had grown larger, more distinct.

_A ship._

"Captain?"

Killian didn't respond, still deep in conversation with Ed.

The glare of the sun made it difficult to tell for certain, but Emma thought she could see at least three masts, making it a much bigger ship than the  _Jolly Roger_. A war ship, most likely.

"Captain," Emma repeated, more insistent this time. "You really need to see this."

His head snapped around, and he froze for a full second when he followed the direction Emma pointed, his blue eyes locking in on the other ship. From out of nowhere, he produced a spyglass and raised it to his eye as he joined her on the starboard side. Emma leaned in, trying through the magic of proximity to see what he could see, until he swore.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A bloody frigate," he growled. "With what looks like a corvette not far behind."

He swore again and, unthinking, shoved the spyglass into Emma's hands before bounding off, shouting commands. Emma had to scramble out of the way so as not to get bowled over as the crew rushed to prepare the deck guns. When she finally found a place to stand outside of the mayhem, she extended the length of the spyglass and looked through it. She had to scan over empty water for a few seconds before she managed to find the frigate and the smaller ship some distance behind. With the magnification of the glass, she could clearly see the ship's sails stretched taut into the wind and its flag beating hard at the top of the mast.

Red with a golden flower.

Her breath caught.

"Wait! Stop!" Her feet pounded across the deck as she raced over to the captain. "Don't fire! The frigate is one of my father's!"

Killian motioned for his men to keep at their work. "I know."

"It's okay," she insisted. "They won't attack. Not unless you do first. And once they realize I'm on board…Killian, those are  _my_ men. That's  _my_  ship. If we get close enough for them to see me, I can take command of it. They'll escort us all the way back to my kingdom. They'll protect us from Regina."

"Don't count on it," Killian replied. "That corvette accompanying your men  _is_  one of Regina's. They're not going to get close enough to see you, Princess. Not before they blow us out of the water."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do." He rounded on her, all traces of the charming captain gone and nothing but ruthless pirate left. The change was so sudden, so complete, and so unexpected that it left her breathless. "Get down below, love," he said with a shake of his head. "I can't have you underfoot right now."

Unable to speak, she stared at him dumbfounded.

One of her own ships was  _right there_. She probably even knew the captain, had likely danced with him once upon a time at a royal function. And he wanted her to walk away? To ignore it? The sight of the ship's familiar banner filled her with such hope and such acute homesickness that she couldn't bear to move even one step in the opposite direction.

It also threw everything on board  _this_  ship back into sharp perspective.

Gods, she'd been quick to forget: her violent abduction, the crew comprised of common criminals, and the dubious character of the man standing in front of her. His handsome face made it so tempting to believe that he possessed similar beauty on the inside, that life as a pirate had fallen upon him through no fault of his own. And his easy flirtations made it entirely too easy to hope that he might harbor a soft, romantic heart deep down inside.

The truth was simple and now so obvious that it hurt.

He didn't care that she could commandeer the frigate with a wave of her hand, because if he allowed her to do that, he would have to forfeit her ransom. And that was something a pirate would never do.

"Darling. Please." He looked at her, beseeching. "Do me this favor."

She glanced past him to where the frigate loomed ever larger, close enough now that she could make out the silver and blue painted unicorn figurehead affixed to its prow. She knew it, had seen it before while visiting the docks with her father. The distinctive figurehead had been commissioned to commemorate her sixteenth birthday and designed to resemble the crystal and glass unicorn mobile that had hung over her bassinet as an infant. Her heart constricted painfully at how close they were — her friends, countrymen, and allies…just a short span of water away.

Close enough to swim to.

Before anyone could guess what she had in mind — and well before she had the chance to think twice about how wise it might be — Emma darted toward the side of the ship and vaulted up onto the railing.

"Emma!" Killian's voice rang out behind her.

She crouched.

" _Emma! No!_ "

And she jumped.

The force with which she hit the water stunned her.

She sank through the cold, oppressive darkness of the sea, dazed, until the burning in her lungs brought her senses back. Then, desperate for air, she clawed and kicked, her hands pushing, pulling, dragging her upward. Her fingers broke through the surface a split second before her head did, and then she was gasping deep, steadying breaths. Hardly able to believe what she had just done, Emma took a quick look around to orient herself.

The frigate looked a lot farther away down here than it had on board the  _Jolly Roger_  but still close enough that she thought she could make it. Though, it wasn't as if she had much choice now.

She ducked her head and began to swim.

There would be no more of this ridiculous kidnapping business, she thought with a hard kick. No more being a prisoner. No more sleeping on the floor. And definitely no more devilishly handsome pirates. Her life could get back to normal again.

She had just started feeling good about this plan to save herself when a stabbing pain in her ankle made her stop. It flared hot and hard with a blinding flash, then abated just as quickly into a dull, disconcerting ache that left her treading water.

_What the hell was that?_

Behind her, someone called out her name, the voice so full of fear that she didn't immediately recognize it as Killian's.

The  _Jolly Roger_  had come about and was coming back toward her. Killian stood on the railing looking down, his black coat gone and a length of rope looped around his chest. He gripped the rigging above his head and leaned out over the side as far as he could without losing his footing.

"Stay where you are!" he shouted. "We're coming for you!" The ship moved swiftly underneath him, bearing down on her.

There was no way she could out-swim it, but she turned anyway, meaning to try. If the captain of the frigate spotted her and tried to come get her too, maybe they'd cut their losses and run. Maybe…

Something large disturbed the water next to her, sending a chill of pure, animal terror straight through to her core.

"Gods, Emma! Don't move!"

Wanting nothing more than to scream, but afraid to do so, she stilled in the water. The creature brushed past her with a whisper touch, cold and slippery. She tucked her arms in close to her body, trying to keep her profile as small as possible while still staying afloat, sure with every kick that the thing was going to latch onto her leg and drag her down into the abyss never to be seen again.

_Shit._

What the hell was it?

The water rippled on her other side as it made another pass at her, but a deafening boom from above and the splash of a cannonball into the water made it dart away. Emma looked up to see one of the  _Jolly Roger's_  deck guns smoking, Ed aiming its muzzle with grim precision. He fired several more rounds, peppering the sea around her with little explosions. She closed her eyes, convinced his next shot would hit her.

But it was something else that struck her. Something huge and powerful, moving swiftly through the water. She cried out at the impact and flew forward several feet.

" _Emma!_ " Killian took a flying leap off the  _Jolly Roger_ 's deck and came crashing down into the sea nearby. The rope he'd tied about his chest pulled taut as the momentum of the ship dragged him toward her.

The hull whipped past her, and then their bodies collided, sending them both spinning. His arms closed tight around her, and Emma sank her fingers deep into his shoulders as the rope dragged them along, forcing water up over their heads.

It must have made them look extra tempting, like a fishing lure popping across the still surface of a pond, because the creature immediately pursued them, its form creating a 'V' that raced at them like an arrow.

"It's coming!" she screamed.

"Grab my sword!" Killian yelled back, getting a mouthful of sea water in the process. "They're pulling us in! I've got you! Grab my sword!"

Her hand left his shoulder to grope down his side until her fingers locked around the hilt of his sword. His arms tightened harder around her waist as she pulled it free, the blade slicing through the sea the same as it would through flesh. She held it out, ready to defend them.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sea serpent," he gasped.

Emma swore, the sword suddenly seeming a laughably inadequate weapon.

"Can't they pull us in any faster?" she demanded.

The sea serpent flashed by, one of its black fins breaking the surface at the same time as something gigantic lifted Emma and Killian halfway up out of the water. With a strangled cry, she stabbed down at it, feeling glorious resistance as she pierced flesh. The monster surged away, dropping them. As they crashed back down into the water, Emma threw her sword arm back over Killian's shoulder, afraid he might let go, then wrapped her legs around him too for good measure.

"I think I got it," she told him.

"Good girl."

They slammed into the side of the ship, the pressure of the water rushing past the hull immense for the several seconds they were helpless in its grip. Emma closed her eyes and held on for all she was worth, aware that at any moment the sea serpent could return and snap them up with all the ease of a dog catching a treat. But then they were heaved up out of the water, dangling together, her shoulder bumping into the side of the ship with every tug that brought them a little closer to safety.

"Almost there," Killian said, his voice little more than a groan under the combined pressure of the rope and her weight.

Emma only dared to breathe when a hand reached over the side to grab her.

They landed on the deck together in a wet, tangled heap. Killian's sword clattered out of her grip, though she continued to hold onto him, her muscles slow to catch on to the fact that they were no longer at risk of becoming fish food.

"You all right?" Ed bent over them, concern etched deep into his face.

"Fine. Now get us out of here!" Killian barked. "Fast as the wind will take us!"

"Aye-aye, Captain."

While they disentangled themselves, Ed shouted Killian's orders, bringing the ship about yet again. She had completely forgotten about the frigate until the rapport of a canon blast and the crack of wood made everyone on board duck. Killian fought to get free of the rope as the pirates returned fire. He didn't take command, just hovered protectively over her, while the  _Jolly Roger_  slingshot past the bigger ship. The daring maneuver exposed their flank, but for whatever reason, the frigate chose not to take the opening.

"We're pulling away!" Ed shouted.

"Good! Stay the course!" Killian called back.

"But we're heading for—"

"I said, stay the course!"

His hand latched around Emma's arm, dragging her to her feet. An arc of pain shot through her ankle when she put her weight on it, leaving her stumbling.

"Come with me," he growled, either not noticing her discomfort or not caring.

He hauled her over to his cabin door and shoved her inside, slamming it shut behind him. Sopping wet, more angry than she had ever seen him, he advanced on her, demanding in a low, threatening tone, "What the  _hell_  was that?"

Emma squared her shoulders. "That was me trying to get home," she replied.

"By leaping off the side of the ship into the most dangerous seas in all the realm? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" He stood close enough to her now that they were practically nose to nose, but she refused to give any ground.

"I didn't know that they were godsdamned  _dragon infested_  at the time," she snapped.

"It's not just serpents, love." He waved his hand, the wet sleeve of his shirt sending droplets flying everywhere. "You're lucky that storm didn't stir up something even worse. There's creatures out here that could sink the whole damn ship if they so pleased."

"If you would have just listened to me about the frigate in the first place, then—"

"Then they would have blasted us out of the water," he shouted.

"Really? Because they didn't just a minute ago when we passed right in front of their guns."

"Perhaps they were too distracted by the sea serpent circling their ship to notice. Because I damn well  _know_  they'd have shot us if they had the wherewithal to do so. They didn't hesitate before. This isn't the first of your father's ships I've had the pleasure of meeting since taking you abroad, Princess."

Emma saw red, the flush of anger so intense it left her dizzy.

"We've been this close to one of my father's ships before, and you didn't tell me?"

"Why would I?" he countered, the subtext glaring: Y _ou're a prisoner_.

"Maybe because you knew it would turn me against you if I found out that it's not just Regina who wants you dead," she hissed. "Apparently, my father does, too."

He tilted his head and leaned in, turning dangerously seductive. "Let's wonder for a moment exactly  _why_  your father is on the war path then, shall we? He shouldn't even know you're gone yet. So why is he sending out ships? And why do they have orders to shoot me on sight? Don't you think he ought to be using a gentler hand, knowing his daughter is on board?" His lip curled up in a sneer. "Who do you suppose  _whispered_  in his ear that a dastardly pirate made off with his daughter and that there is no hope of ever getting her back? Hmm?"

Emma shivered, both from the chill of her wet clothes and from the furious heat of his proximity.

Her eyes didn't seem to want to stay focused. And she felt flushed all over.

"I don't care," she breathed. "Whatever is going on with Regina is your business. I just want to get home."

"Trust me, love. I want to get you off my ship and back in your castle just as badly as you do."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" she said. "I  _can't_  trust you. You're a pirate."

He scowled. "I'm risking my  _life_  to get you home."

"Oh, please. You're risking your life for money with a side of vengeance. It has nothing to do with me."

Something she couldn't name flickered in his eyes and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I thought we had an understanding," he said, his voice raw.

She sensed that their argument had shifted into something intensely serious, but was having a hard time keeping herself together. Her head felt fuzzy.

"An understanding about what?"

"Doesn't matter," he said and stepped away from her, turning his back. "I'm done with you."

" _Done_ with me?" She stormed after him, each step sending an agonizing jet of pain up her leg from her injured ankle. "What do you mean, 'done' with me? I'm not — you can't be — "

The whole ship seemed to tilt underneath her, her vision going dark at the edges.

"We're not — " she continued, trying to force the words out, not sure anymore what she'd been trying to say, only that he couldn't walk away from her yet, "— done."

In her chest, her heart began to slow. Her legs grew molten underneath her. The eerie sensation of floating away from her body, of becoming untethered, left her desperate to grab onto something and save herself from the swiftly encroaching darkness.

" _Killian_?" she gasped.

He turned around, and as the world went black, she pitched forward into his arms.


	5. Which is Full of Danger

None are all evil—quickening round his heart,  
One softer feeling would not yet depart…  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 5: Which is Full of Danger

Killian caught Emma as she fell forward. Her weight threw him off balance and he stumbled back a step before finding equilibrium again with one arm looped around her waist and the other cradling her head against his chest.

"Emma? Darling?" He drew her body tighter against his, her boots scraping across the floor, until he could tilt her back over his arm. Her eyes remained closed without so much as a flutter as he moved her.

_Gods almighty. Was she…?_

His fingers pressed to the side of her throat.

And her pulse thrummed back against them. Slow but steady.

Weak with relief, he let out a long, shuddering breath.

Would it always be like this with her? Crashing from one wave to the next, from peak to trough and back again with no warning or reason? With the notable exception of the Evil Queen, he couldn't think of another woman who had brought even half this much drama into his life.

A cursory glance up and down her body showed no signs of blood. He lifted her up, carried her the short distance across his cabin to the bed, and laid her down. Rolling her side-to-side, he peeled off her wet jacket, tossing it to the floor, then set about unlacing her boots. As he tugged them off, followed by her socks, his fingers brushed against the chilled skin of her bare feet.

This was, he paused to tell himself, his hands hovering over her body, a purely professional, purely  _medical_  procedure. With that firmly in mind, he began his inspection.

Both feet appeared flawless, so he moved upward, rolling her pant legs to her knees.

On the back of her right leg, on her ankle, he felt something hard.

"Ah. There we are."

He rolled her onto her side to get a better look.

The stinger was in deep, only a minuscule fraction sticking out above the skin, its venom sack shriveled and empty. It would have to come out. And better now than when she woke up. Extracting the bloody thing would hurt like hell.

From his desk, he fetched a sharp knife and a flask of rum. With a shake of his head, he poured a liberal portion of liquor over the blade, then some over the exposed wound on her leg. "Honestly, darling," he said with a sigh. "We've wasted more rum this way since you've come aboard…"

Emma didn't move or flinch when he sliced a clean line through her skin, exposing enough of the stinger so that he could get a solid grip on it. As he tugged it free, he winced on her behalf. With the way it resisted, he knew the stinger's backward facing barbs had to be raking across nerves on their way out.

The black, wicked thing left an ugly, bleeding gash when it finally came free. Killian washed the wound out one more time with rum before wrapping a scarf tight around her leg as a bandage, and then rolling Emma onto her back once more.

He knew from experience that she'd be out for some time before the venom wore off. Hours, at the minimum. So it was painfully obvious what he had to do next.

She'd be furious about it when she woke up, but she'd been angry with him anyway before she'd fainted. It wasn't like he had much left to lose.

And, besides, a gentleman such as himself could hardly leave a vulnerable lady to freeze in wet clothes.

Decision made, he unlaced her pants, half-certain that at any second she'd bolt upright in the bed and clock him for it. She didn't, but the pants resisted in her stead. Killian wasn't used to undressing a woman who was anything other than enthusiastically willing. So without any of Emma's assistance, and with the clothing wetted to her skin, the pants proved difficult to remove. Even more distressing, they had adhered to the white, lacy drawers she wore underneath. He tried to separate them —  _gods, he tried_  — but when he pulled the pants down over her hips, her drawers went right along with them.

_Bloody hell!_

Emma was going to kill him.

Heart pounding, an annoying tendril of heat coiling in his stomach, he freed her drawers and yanked them back up.

Lucky for her, despite rumors to the contrary, he was not  _that kind_  of bad guy. Violating a woman crossed one of the few moral lines he'd retained. And, in any case, he'd never taken any particular kind of pleasure in villainy.

After a great amount of quiet cursing and deep breathing, he managed to get her free of the pants, though they turned inside out in the process.

He drew a heavy, woolen blanket up over her bare legs, then quickly pulled off her shirt. She wore a chemise underneath, which he left her in before pulling the blanket the rest of the way up, tucking it under her chin.

His own clothing had been thoroughly soaked through as well, so he changed and hung everything out to dry. Together, their wet clothes managed to cover nearly every available inch of space in his small cabin: her jacket thrown over the back of a chair, his pants laid across the seat, socks and shirts and his waistcoat spread out over the table and the floor.

Killian picked his way through it to take a seat at the end of the bed, telling himself that he needed to keep an eye on her in case, by some rare chance, the venom caused her heart to stop. But, even though he had no desire to closely examine his motives, he knew the truth was much more complicated than that.

 _Done with her_ , he thought with a derisive laugh.

So much for that.

* * *

The Huntsman had a headache. Both literally and figuratively.

They had come upon the pirate ship, just as he had predicted, only to lose it. It seemed that he had woefully underestimated his quarry's speed, discounting the wild rumors that the pirate had rebuilt his ship's hull and keel out of enchanted timber. But now he believed it. The Huntsman's ordinary corvette hadn't been able to catch up in time to engage in real battle, only getting off a few glancing shots before the pirate ship had whipped by the frigate and out of range.

The frigate, frustratingly, hadn't fired at all. And he wasn't sure why.

In the calm, evening sea, the two ships sidled up to one another, the frigate dropping a small boat with two officers on board that rowed across the space between the two.

Despite the so-called alliance between the two kingdoms, their reception on board the corvette's deck was frosty.

"I bring news from our captain," the frigate's lieutenant announced.

The Huntsman felt a shudder of foreboding but did his best to suppress it.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Our princess — Emma — is alive."

"You're sure?"

"Aye. We saw her."

The Huntsman affected a smile while his mind whirred. "This is wonderful news," he said.

The lieutenant nodded. "Indeed. Beyond our wildest hopes."

Regina had built up the pirate captain's reputation to a terrifying degree upon delivering news of Emma's capture, and she had assured the Huntsman that the princess's family believed her long dead. Why it mattered to her, or why she had drawn the other kingdom's navy into an alliance with her own, he had no idea. Regina obviously had bigger designs that she hadn't bothered to share. His only concern, she'd informed him, was to make sure that Emma was not recovered alive.

His initial plan had simply been, in any encounter, to sink the pirate ship posthaste.

Now that would no longer be possible.

Which meant he had to more seriously consider riskier alternatives — like boarding the other ship, slaying her, and then allowing the pirate to take the blame.

It would be difficult to pull off.

But he didn't have much choice in the matter.

"We should continue to pursue them all the harder then," he said.

The lieutenant shook his head. "Our captain wants to let them go for the time being."

"Let them go? Why?"

"Because they fled in the direction of Skull Rock. Now that we know the princess is on board and alive, we don't want to push them any closer to the island than we already have. We would like to hang back and wait for them to pass out of danger before picking up the hunt once more."

"Your princess is in danger every moment she spends on that ship, whether she is close to Skull Rock or not," the Huntsman pointed out.

"We don't think so." The lieutenant smiled, bemused. "When we approached the ship, Princess Emma jumped overboard. We think she meant to swim to us. But she caught the attention of a sea serpent instead. One of the pirates jumped in and saved her."

The Huntsman froze, astonished at this news.

They not only had seen proof that their princess still lived, but had managed to witness the dastardly pirate saving her life? Godsdamn, this ruined everything. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Regina had sworn that Killian Jones was rotten to the core. None of his plans had anticipated that the man might be willing to risk life or limb for her. So why had he? What did the princess mean to him? Ransom? Revenge? Something else…?

Perhaps if this Skull Rock place was as bad as everyone claimed, it would take care of the whole problem for him.

 _One can only hope_.

"Okay," he said. "We will wait with you to see if they pass by Skull Rock unscathed."

The lieutenant clasped the Huntsman's hand and shook it, his face bright. "We will all be praying that they do, sir."

"Yes." The Huntsman rubbed his chest where a tight, steady ache had settled, right above his heart, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it. "I'll be praying as well."

* * *

Killian looked out over the  _Jolly Roger_ 's empty deck, struck by the stillness. The ropes above him creaked with the wind. And the planks below groaned against the waves. But nothing else dared to stir. All of his crew had holed up below, hoping that their passage through this dangerous stretch of water might go unnoticed.

He knew when he'd ordered Ed to put them on the fastest course away from the frigate that they would be sailing right toward Skull Rock. But hadn't meant to get  _this_  close.

His terror and fury had distracted him.

The realization that Emma preferred a flying leap off the ship to spending another day in his company had cut deeply. Watching as the dark shadow of the sea serpent circled her had felt even worse. When he'd gotten her safely back onto the ship, all he'd wanted to do was drag her off into the privacy of his cabin and let it out: to yell at her, shake her, hug her, kiss her. When she'd called out his name, scared and vulnerable, and then collapsed into his arms, his duties captaining the ship had flown even further from his mind. At least until Smee and come knocking on his cabin door, begging him to come back above deck and adjust their course.

So now, here they were. Within sight of the wretched place. He didn't truly believe that their hasty plan would succeed. Gods knew his luck had been atrocious lately. And with so few ships coming this way, he knew the monsters living there had to be getting ravenous. He narrowed his eyes and peered out into the darkness, wondering if across the water at this very moment, a pair of inhuman eyes stared right back.

After some time, Ed snuck up onto the deck to relieve him from his watch.

"Go get some sleep," Ed whispered. "Been a hell of a day."

That it had.

As much as Killian wanted to stand guard, there was nothing he could do if the worst happened. So he nodded, gave Ed a quiet thanks, and descended into his cabin. A plate of food sat untouched on the table, snuggled in between bits of still damp clothing, and he could see the glow of Emma's blond hair spilling out from underneath a tight cocoon of blankets as she slept off the last of the venom.

She stirred at the sound of his steps.

"Captain?" she murmured.

"Don't get up on my account, love."

She sat up onto her elbows anyway.

"What happened?" She rubbed her eyes and looked around, trying to orient herself. "Did I…oh, dear gods. Did I pass out?"

"Aye." He smirked at how distressed she sounded at the possibility, and couldn't help adding, "I knew from the moment I met you that you'd end up in my arms one day. Admittedly, I'd hoped you would still be conscious when it happened…"

She groaned and fell back onto the pillow, slinging her arm over her face. "Was it the sea serpent? Did it poison me?"

"No. Not the serpent." He reached into his pocket and fetched the stinger, black and jagged, half the length of his thumb. Emma sat up, brushing back the blanket, and held out of her hand. He placed it gently into her palm.

"What is it?"

"Stinger from a fainting fish."

"A fainting fish?" Her eyes flashed up to his. "You're serious? I survived a godsdamned sea serpent attack only to get taken down by a  _fainting fish_?"

"A rather bad break," he replied with a nod. At her stricken expression, he added, "Don't let the name fool you, love. They are fearsome creatures. Not a fish at all, in fact. And thick in these waters. They sting their prey and then retreat until the venom takes effect."

"Once its prey loses consciousness, it moves in and finishes the job?"

"Actually, it frequently doesn't bother. Just feeds."

"Eaten alive? Wonderful." She handed him back the stinger, then scrubbed her hand clean against the bed before snaking it underneath the covers and tunneling down to explore the bandage around her ankle. "I thought you were done with me," she pointed out in a quiet voice.

"Doesn't mean I'd leave you to suffer."

Her expression softened, and she opened her mouth to say something, but he never knew what. Her mouth snapped shut before she got any of the words out, realization dawning. Her hand moved up the length of her bare leg underneath the blanket and she pinned him with a hot, green glare.

"You undressed me?"

"Would you rather I'd left you wet and shivering?"

"Maybe."

"Come now. I left your modesty intact."

_Mostly..._

She rolled her eyes at his presumptuousness, and paused when she noticed the plate of food on the table. "Is that…?" She sat up straighter. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Either Smee or Turley had probably brought it down at some point while he'd been on watch. Grateful it had distracted her, that he would get off easy for daring to undress her, he hastily fetched the plate, snatching a bit of hardtack for himself before depositing it in Emma's lap.

A small smile curved her lips as she tucked the blanket up under her arms and set about devouring everything on the plate. Her hair stuck up in wild array from drying wet against her pillow, and she looked, for all the world, like a woman who had just been roused after a long night spent in the company of her lover. Their clothing spread conspicuously about the room only added to the illusion. He had to look away, the darkness not deep enough to hide his interest. A long drag of rum helped to wash down the tasteless, dry hardtack.

"It's quiet," Emma said between bites.

He shrugged. "It's late."

"Even so, there is usually someone awake, moving about."

"Ed is steering the ship."

She eyed him cannily. "Just Ed?"

That he had inadvertently delivered them into harm's way, and done so because he'd been too distracted by her to properly tend to his duties, embarrassed him. The last thing he wanted to do was admit it to her. But he also needed her to be prepared to defend herself against what lurked out in the dark. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, stroking the stubble on his jaw while he regarded her, weighing his options.

The decision was startlingly easy.

"I want to give you something," he announced.

Her gaze never left him as he got up, retrieved a key from the end of necklace that he kept tucked inside of his shirt, and fitted it into the lock on the trunk at the foot of his bed. Emma crawled to the edge of the mattress on her hands and knees, her meal forgotten. Intensely aware of her scrutiny, he sifted through the contents of the chest, pushing aside what remained of his Navy uniform, a wooden box filled with his brother's war medals, and a leather bound book of star charts that described skies unknown in this realm, until he found what he was looking for.

"Here," he said and handed it to her.

With a dubious look, she sat up on her knees and took the cutlass from him.

"You're giving me a weapon?"

"Aye."

"Even after what happened today?"

"You may need it."

The moonlight coming in through the slanted windows above the bed cast her hair in a golden glow and winked off the well-polished blade as she tested it with an expert hand. She looked like a vengeful goddess, all smooth cream and hard steel.

"It belonged to my brother," he added with a tight smile.

Immediately, the way she held it changed. Killian's dark heart warmed to see her reverence — her instinctual care for the memory of a man she had never met. She blinked slow and soft as she turned the cutlass about, looking at it anew. When she met his gaze again, he sensed a change in her, the delicate turn of her mouth and an added shine to her eyes telling him that a wave of emotion had swelled up within her at the gift, though she refused to let it rise all the way to the surface.

"Thank you," she said, as sincere as he'd ever seen her.

It made him uncomfortable, so he looked away, saying nothing as she climbed down from his bed to lay the cutlass on the floor next to her own.

Within easy reach, he noticed.

 _All the better to slay me with during the night_.

Maybe he deserved it, he thought as he closed and relocked the chest. Not once since Liam's death had he felt a flicker of remorse. Every dark deed, every bad choice, had been justified by the greater good which he served. But Emma's rejection had given him an unwelcome and unexpected jolt of clarity. He saw himself suddenly through her eyes, and didn't like what he found.

Perhaps if they made it through the next twenty four hours, he could take a long hard look inside of himself and see if anything remained of Killian Jones, the honorable naval lieutenant — who might actually stand a chance at winning Emma's trust, if not her affection — or if that man had been well and truly supplanted by the villain he'd since become.

* * *

After her conversation with Killian, Emma couldn't fall back asleep. For a long time, she'd lain on her side, looking down at the cutlass in the moonlight. It was standard issue, average and unremarkable in every way, except for the heavy weight of memories it carried. Because Liam Jones had once owned it. Had used it to defend his own life and to fight for his kingdom. He'd probably died with it at his side. And all these years, Killian had held onto it, had treasured it, before entrusting it to her.

She was used to the man rousing a whole host of feelings in her.

But tenderness wasn't one of them.

She'd meant to say more than thank you, but hadn't been able to put into words what she didn't yet understand. In the last several hours, the diabolical pirate captain who had kidnapped her had done the most unexpected things. He'd caught her when she fell. He'd tended to her injuries. And he had leapt into the ocean to save her from a sea monster. It struck her now, as it hadn't in the heat of the moment, that he had been able to see the serpent's shadow circling her and had known that he would have to contend with the creature in order to bring her back aboard.

He'd risked his life.

_For her._

Where the hell had this sudden selfless streak come from?

She got up before dawn. All night, the ship had floated in dead silence, except for the occasional creak of a board overhead letting her know that someone stood at the helm. Made uneasy by the stillness, she quickly dressed, then fitted the strap on Liam's sword belt so that she could sling it over her shoulder and hang the cutlass down her back.

"Getting ready for war, darling?" Killian asked from the bed.

She got the impression that he hadn't slept either.

"You tell me," she replied. "Something's up. I can feel it."

He heaved a sigh and sat up. One hand scratched the side of his neck. He looked almost…ashamed. Or guilty. Emma was surprised to see it; she had honestly thought him immune to the emotion.

"We have drifted close to Skull Rock," he told her, his tone low. "Too close. If we are exceptionally lucky, we may be able to pass by without being noticed."

Emma swallowed. "And if we're not exceptionally lucky?"

"Then we will be forced to fight for our lives."

"What's out there, exactly? You said demons."

"Of a variety." He grabbed his own sword and secured it around his waist. At some point, he had changed out of the red waistcoat and into an all black ensemble. "You will have heard them called sirens."

"I thought sirens lived in lakes." She tried to recall a story she'd heard about a siren once — one her father had told her when she'd been little. "They're supposed to be beautiful women who lure men into the water and then drown them."

"The tales you have heard are almost entirely wrong," he replied. "The truth is far more gruesome."

She smiled humorlessly. "Not beautiful, then?"

"Their  _faces_  are," he said wryly. "And they do hold some sway over men. That much is true. But they prefer to eat their catch, not drown it."

"So, what you're saying is…if they notice our ship passing by, they'll come and snatch whoever they want for breakfast?"

"That is the thrust of it. Yes."

"I don't even know why I'm surprised. Is there anything out here that doesn't want to eat us?"

"Very little," he replied seriously.

They climbed the ladder together up to the main deck. Emma felt both relieved and troubled that Killian didn't try to convince her to stay below. She wasn't sure how to interpret it. Was he making a concerted effort to show her trust in an effort to earn it for himself? Or was he simply disengaged, making good on his threat that he was "done" with her? He certainly hadn't seemed done when he cut the fainting fish stinger out of her leg. Or when he'd given her his dead brother's sword. But she had a hard time believing that he wanted a real relationship — something beyond their usual captor and captive dynamic, or their flirting and innuendo.

_An understanding._

Smee stood at the helm. He let out a huge sigh of relief when Killian appeared.

"Captain!" He let go of the wheel and visibly shrank as the last of his bravado gave out. "We are steady on course, sir. No hint of movement from the island through my shift."

Killian produced his spyglass and trained it on the horizon, zeroing in on a black hump of land.

"Excellent news. Thank you, Mister Smee."

"May I be excused then?" he asked, rocking from foot to foot.

"Aye." Killian waved him away. "Tell Turley, Bill, and Starkey to come up."

Smee scurried away, like a rat back to its den. Emma watched him with disdain, repulsed by the man's cowardice much more so than she had ever been by the captain's villainy.

"What can I do?" she asked, turning to him.

"Stay close, he replied. "And keep your eyes open."

Obediently, Emma cast her gaze toward the island. The weight of the cutlass felt reassuring at her back.

At length, Turley, Bill, and Starkey appeared as bidden and Killian set them to work. The  _Jolly Roger_  was not a large ship. And there were never very many men on deck at once. But Emma had gotten used to a constant stirring, to the sense of people moving about unseen, like ants in an anthill. The eerie calm on board the ship now chilled her blood. It felt as if she'd been standing in a crowd of people one moment, and then looked around the next to find them all gone.

The sirens had the whole crew terrified.

To Emma, Skull Rock looked comfortably far away. She couldn't judge the distance exactly, but figured at the very least they would have ample warning if the sirens decided to attack.

She leaned against the rail, the gentle pre-dawn breeze clean and crisp as it brushed across her cheek.

Gradually, her mind began to drift.

She thought of her parents, homesickness striking her anew. When she returned, she vowed to spend more time with them and less flitting about the kingdom. All of the sudden, she wanted to ask them things that she'd never even thought of before, like how they had met and fallen in love. In passing, she'd heard bits and pieces of their tale — something about a rock, a stolen bit of jewelry, and a troll — but had never heard it all put together into a solid narrative. She'd never heard from her mother what finding true love felt like. And now she might never know.

As the sun came up, warm and soothing, she imagined what her first day home again might be like.

Priority number one: a real bath, in a basin big enough to sink down into up to her neck, with scented soaps and oils. Sponge bathing with a cold bowl of water and a rough rag had long ago grown tiresome.

After that, she decided, she'd have a feast with bread still warm from the oven, slathered in melted butter; fresh greens tossed with crumbly cheese, slices of pear, caramelized pecans, and a tangy vinaigrette; savory chicken broth; a spit of tender, fall-apart-in-your-mouth roast beef; decadently whipped chocolate pudding with juicy strawberries; and a bottle of the castle's best red wine.

Then she'd retire for the night into her big, pour poster feather bed.

 _Ahh, gods._  Had she really lived like that once? It seemed far away now. Like a dream…

The ship caught a wave and lurched underneath her, snapping her out of her reverie.

With a start, she looked up and saw Skull Rock shifting toward the bow along the horizon as they tracked a wide arc through the sea. They were turning, she realized. Right toward the island.

"What are you doing?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Killian.

"Captaining the ship, love."

"We're headed right toward Skull Rock!"

Incredulous, he waved away her concern. But the wheel continued to turn under his hands.

" _Captain_ ," she implored. "We're going the wrong way."

When she stepped up beside him to put a hand on the wheel, he elbowed her away. Not maliciously. But unthinkingly. As if he were swatting a fly.

"Turley?" She looked down across the main deck, hoping for an ally, and found him standing with a length of rope hanging limp in his hands.

_What in the world?_

Starkey and Bill looked the same — struck dumb, just shells of bodies, their minds and souls tied up elsewhere. The entire ship sat sheathed in heavy silence. And then, over the steady metronome beat of the waves and Emma's own racing heart, she heard it: so soft and high as to be near indistinguishable from the wind, but with deliberate form and presence and thought.

 _Singing_.

A shiver raced down her spine, leaving the hair on her arms standing on end.

Killian had said that the sirens possessed "some control" over men. Was this what he had meant? That their song could possess them? Drive them into a stupor? No wonder the crew was so terrified. The sirens didn't even need to come out to the ship to fetch their breakfast. They could call any man unlucky enough to wander within earshot straight to their shore.

Lucky for everyone involved, it didn't appear to work so well on her.

There had to be a way to snap Killian out of it as well before he sailed them all straight to their doom. Going with the most obvious, she grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him around to face her.

"Sorry about this," she said, then balled up her fist and swung.

It connected hard, cracking him straight across the jaw in a blow that rang painfully up her arm.

His head snapped back, and he stumbled away from her.

He groaned and dabbed blood out of the corner of his mouth with one thumb. "Emma? What in blazes…?

"You have to turn the ship around," she said. " _Now_."

His bloodied hand moved back to the wheel and his gaze swept over the sea, struggling to get his bearings. He swallowed hard and steadied himself, realization of what had happened slowly dawning.

"Bloody hell," he breathed. "They know we're here."

The wheel swung around in his hands, making the ship shudder against the waves as it fought to turn.

"Brace yourself, darling. They'll be here soon."

On the ship? Skull Rock was still across a large stretch of water. Too far too swim. She didn't see how the sirens could get from there to the  _Jolly Roger_  in any reasonable amount of time unless they could…

 _Oh hell_.

Emma unsheathed her sword and looked up.

A few scant seconds later, the sirens came screaming down out of the sky.

From the chest down, they were all bird: a falcon's grasping talons tucked close to their feathered bodies as they dove, their wings massive and black with mock red eyes emblazoned on the bottom. But the upper half was human. Was  _woman_. Bare breasts jutted out above their bellies. And at the shoulder they possessed arms which stretched over the length of their wings to the first joint, where gnarled, rudimentary hands emerged. Emma's courage wavered at the sight of their unnatural dichotomy.

One siren's beautiful face twisted in a snarl as it swooped low over the ship, close enough that the wind from its wing beats ruffled Emma's clothes. She ducked, brandishing her sword above her head.

Demons.  _Holy shit._

Another landed on the mainsail, her claws digging deep into the cloth. A second joined her, and together they ripped and tore at the sail, shredding open a gaping hole.

Emma moved to stop them, but another dove at her before she could take a single step. She took a wild swing at the creature, but missed. It moved too quickly, its wings carrying it back into the sky long before her sword completed its arc.

They circled like hawks above the ship.

"What do we do?" she shouted.

"Do your best to hold them off!" Killian swung his sword at one as well. "Don't let them grab you!"

The commotion had knocked Turley, Bill, and Starkey out of their trance. All three jabbed and sliced at the sirens laying waste to the sails, though it did them no good. Emma and Killian, meanwhile, grabbed whatever they found loose on the deck that could be used as a projectile and threw it at them. A poof of feathers exploded off the back of one siren that Killian managed to hit with a hook, but the creature merely screamed and took off, only to be replaced by another.

Emma felt as if she was battling the wind itself.

One of the sirens circling peeled off from the flock to dive toward the main deck. Turley, Bill, and Starkey all jumped for cover — Starkey somewhat slower than the other two, hindered by his limp. Emma raced down the companionway, her cutlass raised to defend him, but siren snatched him up by the arms and sailed over the ship's railing with him. The creature's huge wings easily accommodated the extra weight. With a few firm flaps, she gained altitude, taking Starkey far above the height of the mainmast. His legs kicked and flailed and Emma heard him cry out, a guttural scream of pure terror, as the siren banked and headed back toward the island.

Mouth hanging open in horror, Emma barely pulled herself back together in time to avoid the next attack.

The main deck continued to be ceaselessly harassed. Emma could do little to help as Turley and Bill fought for their lives.

From her hiding spot tucked up against the companionway, Emma saw one of the sirens land in the rigging above the helm, just a few meager feet above Killian's head. He ducked underneath the wheel, his sword poised above him.

"Back again, Captain?" she said. Her wings folded to her side with a whisper ruffle of feathers. A cruel smile lit her face.

"Aye. Glad to see me, harpy?"

"Always." She licked her lips. "You look like such a delicious morsel of a man. 'Twas a shame I didn't get to sample you the last time. I long to find out how you taste."

"I've heard nothing but good reports," he retorted. "But I'm afraid you'll never know, my dear."

She spread her massive wings, blacking out the rising sun, and leaped at him.

Emma lunged up the steps. The other sirens buffeted her the whole way, a whirl of feathers and claws as they attacked in full force, grabbing anything they could get a hold of. One strong claw wrapped around Emma's left arm, lifting her off the ground. With a cry, she swung her weight and pivoted enough to slice at it with her sword. The blade moved easily through the scaly flesh of the siren's leg, making it screech and drop her.

With a painful thud, she landed back on the companionway. Overbalanced onto one foot, she fell forward onto her hands.

At the helm above her, Killian ducked and weaved through the rigging like a rabbit in a bramble while the siren pursued him.

As Emma scrambled back to her feet, the siren landed on the deck itself, tucking her wings back so that she could use her hands to peel rope out of the way. Killian slashed at her with his sword, slicing a handful of feathers off the tip of her ebony wing.

Her face contorted, and her eyes flashed yellow.

"Enough!" she shouted, the word sounding more like the scream of a falcon than the cry of a woman. "Fight me no more, human!"

To Emma's astonishment and utter horror, Killian's sword clattered against the deck. He looked down at it with a stunned expression, his hand open and motionless, seemingly no longer his own.

_No._

Emma raced up the steps toward him, heart pounding in her ears.

The siren turned and looked at Emma, her gaze cold, and then spread her wings.

_No-no-no…_

A guttural, animal yell tore free of Emma's throat as she launched herself at the creature, meaning to drive her cutlass straight through the siren's black, meager heart. But the siren took to the air before Emma reached her, casually snatching Killian up in her talons as she flew off the back of the ship and out over the water.

Their eyes met a second before he vanished with her over the side: his wide and blue with fear, hers desperate in the face of certain defeat.

Gasping for breath, her stomach rolling, her knees gave out and she collapsed against the railing. She watched helplessly as the siren flew low over the water with Killian tight in her grip, their forms quickly dwindling into nothing but a dark speck in the distance.

Her face felt hot. It took her a moment to realize a burst of angry tears tracked down her cheeks.

 _Pull yourself together_ , she admonished herself.  _This isn't over yet._

Dashing her tears away with the back of her hand, she spun around to call out for Turley or Bill, but the rest of the deck stood empty. Both men gone. Above, a few stray sirens circled twice before apparently declaring her not worth the effort and joining the rest in flight back toward Skull Rock.

Emma stood trembling. Alone.

In the dead silence that followed, her horror began to transform slowly and inexorably into pure, boiling rage. Her hand gripped the hilt of her cutlass until her knuckles turned white.

The creak of wood let her know that the rest of the crew was stirring. A moment later, Ed crept hesitantly up onto the deck, followed by Skylights and Mullins. They ducked low as they stepped out into the sun, their weapons poised. Gradually, the rest of the crew filtered up to join them.

"Princess?" Ed touched Emma's elbow. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

He swallowed hard, looked around the ship once, and nodded. "Okay. Good. Then we will—uh—they should be satisfied for a while. It may give us time to escape."

Emma turned on him, the fire inside her roaring high. " _Escape?_ "

He jerked his hand away, startled by her tone.

"We're not going anywhere," she announced, raising her voice to ensure that everyone on board heard her loud and clear. She held out her cutlass, able to feel the power of her anger radiating up her arm. "We're going to stay right here, mend our sails, and retrieve our men! We will not leave our friends — or our  _captain_  — to die on that rock!" She swung her sword around to point off the side of the ship. "Anyone who disagrees can walk the  _bloody_  plank!"

The crew shifted and murmured as they looked up at her, but no one raised their voice in defiance.

In response, she barked orders, assigning the men she trusted least to get to work on mending the sails and reserving the rest to help her plot and execute an assault on the island.

Ed's face was pale. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Emma didn't have a doubt in her mind.

"I won't abandon them," she said.

He tilted his head. "Even if it means your own life?"

"It won't," Emma assured him, confident in her rage.

She bet in all their long, horrible lives, the sirens had never once dealt with a woman. With someone they couldn't control. Someone whose heart drove her with single-minded purpose toward the man who'd so recently risked his life for her own.

"Those monsters just attacked the wrong godsdamned ship."


	6. In Which Emma Takes Charge

'Tis rash to meet—but surer death to wait  
Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 6: In Which Emma Takes Charge

Emma's plan to go to Skull Rock, defeat the sirens, and save Killian came together quickly. With her cutlass hanging against her back and the captain's sword in hand, she stalked the main deck, shouting commands. Already, several men were hard at work mending the tattered sails. The few still able to catch a breeze billowed and strained, pulling the ship along a sluggish course toward the island. Behind the ship and off to either side, nets dragged through the water.

"Let's pull one up and see what we've got," she ordered.

Mullins and Smee looped the leads through a pulley and hauled the net in. Emma peered over the railing, Ed beside her, both of them eager to get a look at their catch.

"Clear the deck!" Ed shouted as the net lifted out of the water, laden with a wriggling mass.

The crew scrambled up onto the safety of the ship's forecastle, Skylights even going so far as to scale the mast.

Another mighty heave, and the net came up over the side to slap down onto the deck at Emma's feet. Inside, the creatures they had caught began to writhe in earnest. Emma made out several fish, their scales gleaming silver and blue in the sunlight, but the rest she couldn't identify.

"Careful now." Ed held her back with one arm. "Not too close."

"Do you see any?" she asked.

"Aye. A few."

With great care, Ed and Mullins peeled the net open and sorted through its contents, tossing most of the fish to Smee who gutted and cleaned them for the night's meal. Those recognized as inedible, they threw overboard, along with several jellies, two squid, and something that looked disconcertingly like a baby sea serpent.

Ed kicked free a dark red creature. "There's your fainting fish, m'lady."

Emma bent down to get a better look.

The fainting fish was the size of a small pig, its body segmented into three parts, each armored with a knobby shell. A long, pointy tail stuck out the back and thrashed in time with the four paddle-shaped legs struggling for purchase against the dry timbers. A menacing row of serrated teeth kept its mouth from closing completely, giving it a permanent leer.

"Those are the spines," Ed said, pointing to the half-dozen worm-like, waving appendages protruding from underneath its carapace. "Shoots 'em out like a frog's tongue and stabs at whatever swims by."

Lips curled in disgust, a pang firing through her bandaged ankle, Emma took a large step back. "This is easily the ugliest creature I have ever seen," she said.

"Ain't nothing pretty about these beasts," Ed agreed.

At least they were easy to catch.

They had netted five, which Ed and Mullins quickly dispatched. The business of harvesting their stingers proved somewhat more troublesome and time consuming. Emma paced while the men worked, not trusting the steadiness of her hands to help.

Though the  _Jolly Roger_  moved at a snail's speed under its reduced sails, Skull Rock began to grow close enough for her to pick out details. She used one of Killian's spyglasses to get a better look, hoping that the terrain might shed some light on what to expect when they made landfall.

Skull Rock appeared to be just that — a rock. Only a little vegetation clung to the outer fringes of the island, most of it mounds of low brush punctuated by gangly trees with long, skinny limbs and needlelike leaves. The spire of rock that had given the island its name did vaguely resemble a skull, the dark impression of caves pockmarking the mountain-face providing eyes and a mouth.

The sirens made their home there, she figured.

They were half bird, after all, and the mountain represented the highest point on the island.

Emma ordered the crew to weigh anchor half a league out.

"We will take a rowboat the rest of the way," she told Ed. "Everyone else is to stay here and prepare the ship to leave as soon as we return."

"Who are you taking with you?" Ed asked.

Emma had put a lot of thought into who she wanted with her and was grateful she had already tested the sword skills of every man on board. Bill Jukes would have been her first choice had he not been snatched by the sirens in the attack. In Bill's stead, she'd chosen the next best swordsman, Foggerty, as well as Mullins for his loyalty, and Skylights for his eyes.

Ed looked hurt. "Princess. I'd be honored to fight by your side."

"I know. But I need you to keep everything in order here."

The way that Ed glanced at Smee and then at the group of men on the forecastle deck before nodding his agreement let Emma know that he understood what she had not wanted to say. Without a captain, and with her gone, someone had to remain behind to control the crew, otherwise Emma feared she'd rescue Killian only to discover that the  _Jolly Roger_  had left without them. As soon as the sails were mended, the men would be anxious to make their escape. Only a firm hand like Ed's could hope to keep them from mutiny. The instinct for self-preservation above honor ran high amongst this lot.

"I won't let you down," Ed vowed.

She smiled at him and pushed a stray bit of hair out of her eyes. "How are we coming with the fainting fish?"

"Caught five off the starboard side, three off port, and four off the stern."

Emma nodded, satisfied. "Twelve. Should be plenty."

The deck had turned into a slippery mess, littered with scales, hacked up fainting fish corpses, and blue-black blood. Mullins had collected several dozen stingers in a bowl. Emma's ankle pained her as she squatted down to look at them. Each stinger had a small venom sack attached, swollen and full of fluid.

Emma picked up a stinger in one hand, an arrow in the other.

Skylights had produced a single bow and arrow set from the depths of the armory — a weapon, he explained, that they sometimes employed to set fire to enemy ships, like they had with hers when she'd been abducted. No one on board had much skill with a bow, so it been neglected for some time. The wood felt spongy and, if she'd had the time and materials, Emma would have insisted upon having it restrung, but under the circumstances, it would have to do.

With Ed's help, she tied a stinger to the end of each arrow, knotting it tight with a bit of sewing thread. The remaining stingers they cut open, emptying out the venom sacks into the bowl, laboriously collecting a tiny pool of clear liquid. Once they finished, Emma painted a thin coat of venom onto her cutlass, as well as onto the sword of each man who would accompany her.

The whole process had taken a terrible amount of time.

Emma's heart clenched as she looked up at the sun high in the sky.

 _Hold on, Killian,_ she thought. Her hand gripped tight around the hilt of her cutlass, glimmering with the coating of venom.  _I'm coming._

* * *

The siren dropped Killian to the ground at full speed. He tucked and rolled, but the impact knocked the breath out of him. Lungs burning, he came to a stop against a rock wall and lay there, gasping. Above him, he saw the siren circle back around and land, alighting as gently as a bee onto the soft petals of a flower.

She had flown him to the middle of the island, up to the stone spur that made up its backbone, and then through a dark opening that had brought them here: the main chamber of what appeared to be a large cavern system. The hole which they had entered through opened out the top to blue sky and bright sun, a yellow shaft of light spearing down to the floor at his right. The walls were littered with nooks and crannies where the sirens settled themselves like swallows on a cliff face.

Forcing air back into his chest, he sat himself up.

Across the way, he spotted Starkey, Bill, and Turley.

But not Emma.

_Thank the gods._

The sirens chittered and fluttered, gathering. Eight in all.

Surprised, he counted again. It had seemed like there'd been more of them when they'd attacked the ship.

"Who do we start with?" one of the sirens was saying, her wings shifting with excitement.

A chorus of answers rippled through the flock:

"The big one!"

"The handsome one! I bet he's sweet!"

"Let's eat them all at the same time!"

The other sirens tittered at this last suggestion.

Killian frowned. Bad enough, he thought, to get captured. But for the rest of the crew to share his gruesome fate? For Emma? They would need the better part of the day to mend the sails and then a full night to sail out of the sirens' range. That left him with one purpose in his short, miserable existence: to ensure that these monsters took at least one day and night to consume their catch.

He pulled himself to standing.

"For shame, my dears!" he called out. "What are you? Ladies or animals?"

Everyone turned to look at him in shocked silence — his three fellow captives included.

"Why the rush?" he continued. "You would crouch down and devour your meal like a pack of wolves? Bad form."

The siren who had captured him shifted her feathers in a haughty, regal way. "Animals? You dare insult us? We are as far above men as you are above the fish in the sea. We command your very minds. To you, we are as  _gods_."

Killian was unimpressed and let it show. "I am only suggesting, my dear, that you eat a proper, courtly meal as ladies of your distinction ought."

One of the other sirens hopped down from her perch to land on the cave floor. Her eyes darted between the four men as she licked her lips. "The human has a point. I am so tired of lizard tails. I want the chance to try each and every one of these tender men. One at a time."

"Yes. Let's savor them," another added. "I want to slowly suck the marrow from their bones. To lick the fat from between their ribs."

Not exactly the image of a proper meal Killian had in mind, but heading in the direction he wanted. He ducked his head and shrank back against the wall as the sirens talked amongst themselves, their mood shifting as their human desire for luxury began to override their animal instinct to gorge.

"We will start with one," the lead siren announced. "If he does not prove filling, then we will select another, and eat until we are content."

She walked the chamber, passing by each captive. When she lingered in front of Killian, he said, "Like what you see?"

She smiled, running her tongue over her teeth. Despite his bravado, he flinched.

"The big one," she said, looking away. "Throw the others in the pit."

All of the blood drained out of Bill's tattooed face. Killian had no chance to call out, no chance to offer himself in Bill's place, before two sirens landed on either side of him and began buffeting him along with their wings. Heartsick, he glanced over his shoulder, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Bill who he could hear swearing and struggling, but saw only feathers.

Would they eat the poor man alive, Killian wondered, or kill him first?

He supposed he'd find out soon enough.

Together, the two sirens had him outmatched. They shoved him hard out of the chamber, through a narrow tunnel, deeper into the cave system, until they reached a hole in the floor. Killian leaned forward to look down into it, not sure what to expect, when one of the sirens toppled him down into the void. He landed with a bone jarring thump. A moment later, Starkey and Turley joined him.

The pit was little more than a cup-shaped impression in the cave floor — an old cavern that the ceiling had rotted away in — deep enough that Killian couldn't reach the edge above his head.

After a minute, he said, "Turley. Come here, mate. I need a boost."

"Why?" Turley frowned. "There's nowhere to go. No escape."

Starkey grunted, full of ire. "Why? To raise hell! That's why! You gonna let those harpies butcher you without a fight? Cuz I sure ain't."

"I'll not go quietly," Killian agreed. He couldn't sit by while the sirens feasted. Plus, making the creatures' lives difficult might earn Emma and everyone else precious time in which to escape. "It's our duty. Is it not? As pirates."

"Aye!" Starkey echoed. "As pirates!"

"Come on." Killian rested a hand on Turley's shoulder and smiled darkly. "Let's do what we're best at and cause some mayhem."

* * *

Emma wanted to paddle, just to have something to do, but Mullins wouldn't hear of it. He manned one oar, Foggerty the other. Together they tugged the small boat swiftly toward shore. More armed than she had ever been in her entire life, Emma wore her cutlass on her back, the bow slung over her right shoulder, and a quiver of arrows tipped with fainting fish stingers over her left. She'd wanted to bring Killian's sword along as well but hadn't been able to find a place for it.

A shame — she missed its weight.

Not to mention the man normally attached to it.

Skull Rock loomed before her, bigger than she'd imagined.

"How did a bunch of sirens end up way out here anyway?" she asked, needing to break up the silence, not expecting an answer.

"Legend tells that they used to be mermaids," Mullins said. "They became fascinated with the world above, and the sea king cursed them for it. Said if they loved the air so much, they could fly in it as birds and feast upon men as they once had upon fish."

Emma blew out a breath. "Well. That seems a little harsh."

"Aye."

"Do you see anything?" she asked Skylights.

He shaded his eyes and gave the shore and sky a closer look before shaking his head. "No. Nothing. They must be in the mountain."

Just where Emma had hoped. If the sirens lived inside the mountain and had taken the men into the confines of rocky passages, the sirens would no longer have the advantage of flight, putting them, literally, on equal footing. It had probably never even entered the creatures' minds that someone might hunt  _them_ , or that their lair was anything other than a fortress. Even better, from inside the mountain, the sirens wouldn't see her coming.

She didn't want to admit how much of her plan depended on the element of surprise.

Close to the island, they began to come upon the wreckage of old ships. Not much remained, but a few masts stuck out above the waterline, and below Emma could make out the shadowy forms of hulls and keels lying against the white sandy shelf the island sat upon.

"A vast treasure is down there somewhere," Mullins said.

Emma looked up from the ghostly specter of the wrecks. "Is that what you came here looking for the first time?"

"Aye. We didn't believe the rumors about this place. Figured they were started to protect the treasure." He squinted, his face drawing up into an unpleasant expression. "We was wrong, o'course."

Their boat scraped bottom a few minutes later. Mullins and Foggerty hopped out to drag it the rest of the way inland. Foggerty offered Emma a hand, and she stepped out onto the pebbly beach of Skull Rock. Before them, a moat of open land separated them from the mountain with no cover to speak of. They'd have to move fast. A lizard skittered out of the way as Emma stepped over a large rock, waving the three men to follow her, their swords at the ready.

Her legs felt weak after so many days at sea but adjusted quickly. Once everyone grew steady, progress across the island was swift. Nothing moved ahead of them on the mountain. Only the lizards, bugs, and rats had noticed their arrival.

It didn't take long to find a way inside the mountain, although the entrance took some climbing to access.

Emma went first, then helped the rest up the steep ridge and into the open tunnel. It extended as far as she could see, off into darkness.

She retrieved the bow off her shoulder and nocked an arrow against the string, sparing a single glance at the stinger on the end, hoping like hell this would work.

"Follow me," she said.

The tunnels formed an elaborate maze. More than once, Emma took a turn only to find a dead end, or to have the passage close up into a gap so ragged and tight there was no hope of squeezing through. Still, they forged on, relying heavily on Skylights' excellent vision in the murk.

Finally, the sound of voices reached her ears.

The high, female tones echoed clearly down the cavern system. Bow ready, Emma's feet picked a slow, cautious path through the tunnel.

It ended in a large, brightly lit chamber. Emma hung back from the entrance and listened to the sirens inside. Their voices were rife with discontent. Emma tried to catch their words as they argued with one another but only caught bits and pieces as the sirens squawked and talked over one another. The prisoners had caused some trouble, she gathered, and no one could agree who was to blame.

Carefully, she inched forward, leaning her head to peer out into the cavern.

The sirens all sat grouped together in a circle, their heads bobbing up and down like chickens as they ate something. Emma's stomach dropped down to her knees, rolling the whole way. She lifted a hand to her mouth and ducked back into the tunnel, the cool press of the rock wall at her back helping to calm the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Skylights," she whispered from behind her hand. He leaned in close to her. She gestured quickly in the direction of the cavern. "Tell me if you can see who it is."

He didn't ask what she meant, just nodded and nudged her aside. She didn't watch him, not wanting to see the expression on his face as he gazed out at the sirens and waited to make out some identifying characteristic of the man they were consuming.  _Gods, don't let it be Killian_ , she thought.

Skylights leaned back against the wall beside her. Emma's heart skipped a beat as he bent his head close to hers.

"It's Bill," he whispered. "Saw one of his tattoos."

The intense relief that washed over Emma left the sour taste of guilt in its wake. She hadn't wanted it to be any of them, had wanted to get every single man back alive. But if it had been Killian…

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, not wanting to think about it.

"Did you get a count?" she asked.

"Seven. All on the floor around the body."

She had ten arrows. More than enough.

As quiet as possible, she tested her bowstring and shifted until she could once again see the sirens standing beyond the tunnel opening. A nod to her companions let them know to be ready — their cover would be blown not long after her first shot. Each man checked his sword grip and nodded back.

Emma drew her bow.

Her mother had taught her archery, and while Emma had never shown as much promise with a bow as she had with a sword — taking more after her father in that respect — she was a decent shot. And the sirens were close. Large targets. She picked out one with long brown hair, currently sinking her teeth into one of Bill's arms, steadied her arm, and fired.

The arrow buried itself deep in the siren's back, right between her wings.

She screamed and took to the air, startling everyone around her.

Emma already had another arrow nocked.

She fired again, sinking her second shot in just below another siren's breast.

Chaos erupted in the chamber.

Before any of the sirens had figured out what was going on or where the shots were coming from, Emma got off two more: four down, three to go. With the sirens flapping wildly about the chamber, she could no longer make out which ones she had hit and those she hadn't. Then, it no longer mattered. They were spotted.

"For Bill!" she shouted and ran out of the tunnel.

Foggerty, Mullins, and Skylights followed close behind.

They fought like men possessed.

In the enclosed chamber, the sirens couldn't circle, couldn't dive at them the way they had on the ship. They were forced to get within striking distance or run into one another. Emma stuck close to Foggerty, allowing him to provide her cover while she searched for any siren flying along without an arrow sticking out of its feathers.

One landed on the stone floor next to Skylights and tackled him, knocking his sword from his hand.

Emma fired an arrow straight into her rump. With a cry, she took off again, leaving Skylights dazed but unharmed.

"I can't find the last two!" she shouted. The sirens' screaming nearly drowned out her words.

"There!" Skylights pointed up at the top of the chamber, where a narrow portal opened up onto the sky. One small siren was flapping directly toward it.

As Emma moved to the middle of the chamber and lined up the shot, the fainting fish venom started to do its work and the fluttering, wild mass of wings and women blocking her view began to peel away. Right as the siren reached the opening, Emma let the arrow go, her breath catching in her chest as it speared straight up…up...up…until finally finding its way home in the siren's soft belly. She howled and faltered, but climbed through the hole and out of sight.

No concern there. She wouldn't get far.

_One more left._

Emma spun on her heel so that she could press her back to the chamber wall. Sirens fell out of the air all around her to land in unconscious heaps on the floor. She finally spotted the last of the seven — the only one she hadn't managed to hit — and let out a long breath. Foggerty had it pinned to the floor, his sword through her throat. The dead creature's eyes stared open and dull.

With three arrows left and all the sirens accounted for, Emma released a long sigh.

 _It worked_. She couldn't believe it.

Foggerty pulled his sword free and walked over to the nearest unconscious siren, pulling her head up off the floor by the hair.

As he moved to slit her throat, Emma shouted, "Whoa! Stop! What are you doing?"

He paused and sent her a baffled look. "We can't just leave 'em like this."

"Like what?"

"Alive!" He made a sweeping gesture. "They don't deserve to live. They killed Bill an' ate him. They're unnatural creatures. We should kill 'em all while we got the chance."

Emma stood prone, not sure how to respond. Foggerty had a valid point: the sirens had killed and would again. She could save countless lives by dispatching them here and now, or condemn just as many to death if she chose to spare them. It made sense to let the pirates slit all of their throats. She could justify it.

Still, it didn't sit right.

Emma heard her mother's voice ringing through her head, countering the brutally strategic sense of dispatching the sirens with the moral argument that killing them now while they lay defenseless would be something uncomfortably close to murder. These creatures, her inner voice pointed out, hadn't killed because they were evil. Distasteful as it may be, they'd killed to eat. Not so different than a pack of wolves. Plus, as far as she knew, killing them might destroy an entire race.

"We've done what we came to do," she said. "It isn't our place to decide whether they deserve to live."

Foggerty snorted. "Says you. Bill was my friend. That makes it  _exactly_  my place to decide."

He twisted his hand in the siren's hair and swung his sword back toward her neck.

"I said  _no!_ " Emma yelled, stopping him again. "You're here under  _my_  command, and I've made my decision."

Foggerty scowled at her. "You're not my captain."

"I am today. You got your revenge. One of theirs for one of ours." She nocked a fresh arrow in her bow. "Now, do you want to mutiny over this? Because I can drop you with a dose of fainting fish venom from all the way over here."

Mullins and Skylights stood transfixed by the standoff.

Unblinking, Foggerty stared her down. His sword wavered, testing her, and the bow creaked as she drew it taut.

Then, finally, with a muttered curse he broke eye contact with her and dropped the siren.

"Whatever you say, m'lady."

Emma lowered her bow.

"Good. Now, we should split up and search for our men."

She cast her gaze around the large chamber, taking it in for the first time. Three tunnels snaked off out of it, all of them at ground level. The one they had come in through could be ruled out.

"Two teams. Skylights, go with Mullins. Foggerty, you're with me." Best to keep him close. "Careful, there might still be other sirens about. And don't go far. Meet back here."

They went their separate ways. Together, she and Foggerty paused in front of the tunnel entrance. Then, heart pounding, Emma took the first step inside.

Killian  _had_  to be here somewhere.

She looped her bow back over her arm as she walked.

The tunnel grew narrow and dark. Emma brushed her fingers along either side as she walked. Foggerty followed behind her, radiating irritation.

With the adrenaline rush of battle receding, the horror of seeing Bill's body caught up to Emma. Sick all over again, she pinched her eyes shut and followed the wall around a curve, when something knocked her backwards, sending her sprawling into Foggerty, and both of them to the ground.

"Stay where you are, human!" a female voice called out.

Foggerty froze, enthralled.

_Shit. Another siren._

Emma shoved herself back to her feet, pulling free her bow in the same motion.

The siren came at her before she managed to free an arrow from her quiver. The tunnel didn't give them much room to move, so the creature settled for merely slamming Emma into the wall, her gnarled hands gripping hard around Emma's forearms. The bow smashed into the stone as well. A loud crack echoed through the tunnel as the wood splintered.

"My magic doesn't work on you," the siren growled close to her face ."Why?"

Emma recognized the voice now — this was the siren who had taken Killian off the  _Jolly Roger_.

"Just lucky, I guess," she said, then kicked hard, her boot connecting with the siren's fragile leg.

It buckled and the siren released Emma in order to catch herself.

Immediately, Emma dropped the broken bow and unsheathed her cutlass, narrowly avoiding Foggerty's paralyzed face in her haste. The confines of the tunnel and darkness worked both for and against her: the siren couldn't fly, but Emma also had little space in which to evade her enemy and none in which to complete a proper strike with her cutlass. Always, the siren seemed within her arm span.

They clashed together, wrestling — Emma's free hand reaching for the siren's naked throat while the siren pushed her bodily into the wall and smashed the wrist of her sword arm against the rock, trying to break her grip.

Emma held firm.

They scrabbled and rolled, a mess of feathers and leather, steel and talons.

"Why have you come here?" the siren demanded.

"You don't know?" Emma planted a foot in the creature's stomach and shoved, but the siren clung to her, refusing to let her put enough distance between them to allow for the use of her sword.

She gave Emma a puzzled look. "Everyone before you focused on repairing their ships. On escape." Her head tilted. "Have you come hoping to save them? Or…" A smile curled her lips. "Or you've come to save  _him_. The captain."

Emma didn't admit to anything, just dug the heel of her boot harder into the siren's guts, not even caring how it made the monster's unnatural, clawed hands dig harder into her arms.

"You are a most curious creature," the siren said, her voice low with the effort of her resistance. "A woman in love."

Not wanting to hear any more, Emma redoubled her efforts. Finally, with a grunt and a savage push, she managed to wrench free of the siren's grip on her arms. The siren stumbled away.

Emma knew she'd only have one chance. Quickly, with all of her strength, she stabbed forward with her cutlass, aiming for the heart. The blade met flesh and cut cleanly, ripping a bloody gash between the siren's ribs as she pivoted out of the way.

Sword coated in blood, Emma decided to throw in her lot in with the fainting fish venom and changed tactics. If her plan was going to work, she'd know soon. She just had to stay alive long enough. When the siren grabbed for her, she didn't attempt to take the risky opening her opponent's stance gave her for a potential blow. Instead, she gave ground.

"Afraid?" the siren hissed.

Emma flicked her sword, splattering blood on the rock wall. "Are you?"

The siren sneered. And then they were knotted together again, a test of strength and wills. Emma didn't doubt that she had far more of the latter, but the former was giving her trouble. The siren had the uncanny grip of a falcon, and Emma's whole body was beginning to protest at the battery — at being smashed into the walls, squeezed by the creature's talons, and crushed by her weight. Every time the siren went for her throat Emma struggled to deflect her grasping hands, growing more tired by the minute.

"Foggerty!" she called out, hoping to jar him out of the spell that had frozen him in place.

The siren laughed. "He can't help you, little girl."

Then, right as the thrill of an impending kill began to light up the monster's eyes, her expression fell.

She blinked once — twice. Long and slow. Confused.

Her grip wavered. Her legs trembled.

And then her eyes locked on Emma's.

"What did you…?"

She stumbled. Reached forward to grip the wall. And then she fell, collapsing onto the floor at Emma's feet.

The spell on Foggerty broke instantly.

"Son of a bitch, Princess," he said, sounding impressed despite himself. "You hurt?"

Taking deep breaths to steady herself, Emma rubbed her neck and arms with her free hand.

"Nothing a few days rest won't fix," she said.

The siren looked well and truly out. Emma had no idea how well the fainting fish venom would work after being exposed to the air so long on her sword blade, or how big of a dose the siren might have gotten. To ensure that she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, Emma retrieved one of the arrows from her quiver, bent, and plunged the tip of it into the siren's feathered rump. She'd have a grand time getting the arrow out when she woke back up.

"Let's go find our men and get out of here," Emma said.

Farther down the tunnel, they came upon a deep hole in the cave floor. Not sure what she was going to find, Emma held her breath as she leaned over and peered in.

Turley, Starkey, and Killian stared back up at her.

At the sight of Killian, alive and well, Emma choked back a sob of relief.

" _Emma?_ " he cried out, his jaw dropping in stunned awe. "What in blazes are you doing here?"

Foggerty leaned over beside her to look down at the three. "Rescuing your mangy asses. What's it look like?"

They pulled the men up one by one: Starkey first, then Killian. Emma sheathed her cutlass so that she could hold onto his wrist with both hands, her knees braced against the floor. Her breaths came in short, staccato pants — both from exhaustion and excitement — as he climbed up out of the pit and into her arms. Overcome, she held onto him for a moment longer than necessary, clutching his body to hers even after he'd made his way to safety. His heart thudded reassuringly against her ear. The smell of leather and  _him_  made her fingers dig into his back.

Killian's arm looped around her, and she realized that she'd held on too long.

"You came to rescue me," he said, rocking her gently back and forth. "Darling. I had no idea you cared."

"I'm not here  _just_  for you," Emma said, pushing out of his grip. Behind him, Foggerty and Starkey helped Turley out of the pit.

Killian glanced over his shoulder at them, then back down at her with a knowing smile. "A plausible excuse." He arched an eyebrow, the usual rakish effect somewhat diminished thanks to the bloody gash now bisecting it. "How did you get past the sirens anyway?"

"I'll tell you on the way out. Come on. We don't have much time to spare."

When they passed the unconscious siren, the shaft of an arrow protruding conspicuously from her rear, Killian gave Emma a long, admiring look that set her heart to fluttering. By the time they returned to the large, airy chamber at the heart of the mountain, she'd finished explaining what she'd done. The sight of the seven sirens lying prone in amongst what remained of Bill Jukes brought them all to a pause.

"You will never cease to surprise me, Emma," Killian whispered. "Bloody brilliant."

Mullins and Skylights returned from their search a few seconds later. Their faces lit up upon seeing Killian, Starkey, and Turley, though they quickly schooled their features and greeted the men with handshakes and backslaps.

"Let's go," Emma said.

With a somber farewell to Bill Jukes, they made their way out of the chamber, through the labyrinthine tunnels, back into open air and sunshine. The  _Jolly Roger_  sat close to shore — much closer than Emma had left it — its sails white and open, fully mended, waiting for their captain's orders.

The rowboat barely held all seven of them. Emma sat squished between Mullins and Killian, who both manned an oar. With every stroke, Killian's arms pushed against her side. Adrenaline had primed her system — her heart continued to pound, her skin felt flushed all over. She drank in his warmth, his scent, the accented rumble of his voice: all the things that she'd feared lost forever.

It surprised her how much she'd missed him.

Ed raised a cheer for them as they paddled up to the ship.

Immediately, he transformed back into the captain, walking the deck and owning every plank, taking his rightful position at the helm. Emma liked seeing him there again. She didn't mind letting go of command.

"Raise anchor and get us the hell away from this bloody isle, boatswain!"

The crew, a unified front once more, got right to work. They had cleaned up the deck while Emma had been gone. The whole place smelled of lemon and lye, a not entirely unpleasant smell with the salt of the sea breeze layered on top.

Emma braced herself against the rail and watched as the  _Jolly Roger_ , under full sail, turned and moved swiftly away from Skull Rock.

"It will take most of the night to sail out of their range," Killian said from behind her. "But that is time you gave us. We'll make it out of here. And all because of you, love."

Emma smiled and turned to face him, resting her bottom against the ship's side.

"Is that supposed to be a 'thank you'? Because I think you owe me one, Captain. I did just save your life."

The wind ruffled his hair and his lips parted slightly on a teasing grin. His boots thudded soft as a heartbeat against the deck as he stepped closer.

"My life is worth quite a lot to me, darling." He leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I'd thank you properly, but I'm not sure you could handle it."

His gaze locked with hers - challenging, flirtatious - and she knew that he didn't expect her to take the bait, just like every other time he'd used his sexuality to intimidate her.

"Seeing as gratitude is in order," he continued, reaching down to scoop up her hand, "I suppose a kiss would do. But don't fret, Princess. I promise to be a gentleman." He winked and drew the back of her hand up to his mouth.

_Seriously?_

She'd just taken down eight mythical monsters and rescued him from becoming dinner. She was a godsdamned force of nature. She could sure as hell handle a  _real_  kiss.

She knew this was all about putting her in her place. He was trying to prove that the power dynamic between them hadn't changed. That he was still the villainous captain and she was still the innocent princess. That the sheer force of his masculinity could keep her in line. It would serve him right, she thought, if she called his bluff. Right here. Right now.

He dropped her hand with a victorious glint in his eyes.

Damn it. This wouldn't do.

Not anymore.

Determined not to let him win another of these innuendo-laced duels, she fisted her hands in the high collar of his black shirt. His cocksure expression wavered for the split second before she yanked him close and sealed her lips over his.

He let out a surprised grunt against her mouth.

Immediately, she realized her mistake. The sound sent a cascade of heat flooding down her spine. She tried to ignore it as they each let out a long breath and swayed into one another. Then Emma felt his hand come up, his fingers moving gently through her hair to cradle her head. And she was gone.

They broke apart long enough to gasp for air, then Emma dove in again. She worked her mouth aggressively across his, aware that she'd been trying to make a point but no longer able to remember what it had been over the heart-pounding, knee-melting, stomach-twisting taste of him.

Nothing had ever felt this good. The fleeting kisses she'd shared with princes and noblemen were pale, meek things compared to this.

His mouth fell open, warm and inviting, then closed over her top lip as his fingers curled around the back of her head, tugging her close. His chest heaved against hers.

If she'd been able to, she'd have sworn at the extra layer of contact. But without breaking the kiss, she could only groan.

It added even more fuel to the fire.

Melting away, needing desperately to remind herself that she was still standing, Emma fisted her fingers so tight into his shirt that her nails dug into her palms through the material. Then, with enormous effort, her body nearly refusing to comply, she pulled away.

Their foreheads rested against one another, noses still touching, and she lacked the power to push him back any further. The kiss had left her out of breath and dizzy.

Killian's head tilted. His thumb brushed her jaw.

"That was…"

He sounded as thunderstruck as she felt.

The whisper touch of his mouth across hers gave her the motivation she needed to break away completely. That had been more than she'd bargained for.  _A lot more._

"That was a one time thing," she said, surprised at the roughness of her voice.

Eyes open, she took a step back and tried not to notice the look on his face — stunned, aroused, wrecked beyond measure — or the way that she'd left his lips flushed.

 _Gods_. What had she been thinking? Fighting mythical beasts was practically a family tradition. But kissing pirates? Kissing  _anyone_  like that when she didn't mean for it to become something more?

"I'm going to go get something to eat," she said, trying like hell to hold herself together. She nearly headed the wrong way before remembering that to get to the galley, she'd have to walk right past him. "Don't follow me."

"As you wish," he murmured.

The tips of his fingers brushed her hand as she passed. The contact jolted her, making her steps falter and her cheeks grow hot, but she powered on — needing privacy. Needing space. Needing something to occupy her mouth for a few minutes on the frail hope that she might be able to forget a single detail of what it had been like to finally kiss the ever-loving-hell out of the handsome pirate captain who had been making her life so complicated.

 _It was just a kiss_ , she reminded herself all the way to the galley.  _Just a kiss._

And, gods help her, she could never let it happen again.


	7. In Which Regina's Scheming Pays Off

 

Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,  
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,  
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,  
Then trembles into silence as before.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 7: In Which Regina's Scheming Pays Off

Killian brushed his fingers across his lips and blew out a breath, his heart still racing. Emma could say so all she wanted, but he knew a kiss like  _that_  could never be a one time thing. He didn't watch her leave, choosing instead to look out over the water as his whole body hummed. From his belt, he retrieved his flask of rum and took a long, steadying drink.

He hadn't expected Emma to respond to his challenge.

When she did, grasping him by the collar to pull him into a searing, passionate kiss, his mind had gone blank. He remembered putting a hand in her hair, but it hadn't been a conscious decision. More of a reflex. And after that? Nothing but the mind-blowing realization that he wanted  _more_. He'd known from the moment he first laid eyes on Emma that he desired her physically. But emotionally?

He took another drink, attempting to drown out the memory of her kiss, but it resurfaced immediately, bright and buoyant. In vivid detail, he recalled how she'd tasted, how she'd smelled, and the sound of the half-suppressed groan she'd breathed out when he'd kissed her back.

 _Bloody hell_.

He had never felt so thrown.

As evening fell, he took over duty at the helm from Ed, who gave him a knowing look.

"Something you want to say, sailor?" Killian demanded sharply.

"No, Captain." Ed shook his head. "Just wouldn't blame you if you wanted to get something to eat and hit the sheets after the day you've had."

"I'd prefer to stay here for a while."

Ed smirked. "Afraid the little lady might not be as welcoming as she was this afternoon?"

Killian glared at him. "My relationship with the princess is not a topic for discussion."

"If you say so. But you should know, she was mighty worried when those sirens took you away. Wouldn't allow so much a whisper of turning tail and running away."

"What are you trying to imply?"

Ed leaned in, his voice low. "Just that there's a fierce passion in that girl. And it burns extra bright when you're involved."

He winked and Killian sighed. He knew that his kiss with the princess would generate a lot of chatter, but he hadn't expected anyone to show genuine interest in helping their relationship along. Emma had been staying in his cabin long enough now that most of the men already assumed they'd become more than a little friendly. Ed, as one of Emma's closest confidants on board the  _Jolly Roger_ , knew better. But that still didn't make it any of his business.

"Encourage the rest of the men to keep their mouths shut," he said and waved Ed away.

Ed nodded and bid him goodnight.

For a long time, he stood at the wheel, sipping rum and working through his thoughts as he looked out over the waves and stars. It didn't help, just left him tipsy and exhausted. Some time deep into the night, he handed over navigation duties to Smee and stopped in the galley to eat before returning to his quarters.

With great relief, he discovered Emma already asleep. The top of her head protruded from underneath the blankets on the floor. She didn't move as he stepped past her, pulled off his boots and waistcoat, then loosened the laces on his pants and climbed into bed.

He had expected to find it difficult to sleep with her so close at hand, her presence filling him with half-drunk fantasies. Instead, the steady cadence of her breathing and the easy warmth of her company soothed him. The day's exceptional tensions ebbed away, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

In her time as queen, Regina had transformed the airy, whitewashed castle she'd known as a girl into an impregnable, dark fortress. No one came or went except by her invitation. Enchantments protected every window. Faceless guards stood on either side of the massive gates. Whenever she held court, she did so from a second floor balcony, her people crowded into the plaza below. Yet, she did not consider the balcony where she passed edicts and decided the fate of every man, woman, and child in her kingdom the true seat of her power.

That existed three floors down, deep in the private wing of her personal quarters.

Her heels struck the marble floor with sharp claps as she strode down the long corridor. Already, she could sense the power emanating from the chamber at the end of the hall — the warm, red glow of a thousand human hearts.

Inside, she bolted the door behind her before closing her eyes, taking in the whispers and phantom memories emanating from the walls, zeroing in on one amongst the chaos.

_There._

She pulled open a drawer — one of an uncounted multitude — and reached to fetch the beating heart within.

The moment her fingers closed around it, she became linked to its owner: able to see what he saw, feel what he felt, and even control what he thought and said. The confusing duality of existence that occurred while holding the enchanted heart of another had nearly driven her mad at first. After decades of practice, seeing two things and being two people at once had become second nature. She looked around the room, seeing both the drawers of hearts and the wide open sea. The sensation of the cool, salty breeze rose gooseflesh across her skin and made her shiver in the still, dark depths of her castle.

The Huntsman stood brooding as he looked across the water at a frigate with a silver and blue unicorn figurehead. Regina recognized the ship as one of Snow's — Who else would put  _unicorns_  on a warship? — and pressed further into the Huntsman's thoughts, following the thread of his discontent, searching for its source.

Finally, she found it. A memory.

It flashed through Regina's mind in the blink of an eye, as vivid as if she had lived it herself, and what she saw made her hand tighten so hard around the heart that the Huntsman winced in pain.

_Emma was alive._

Even worse, Snow's men knew it.

The two ships sat drifting, waiting to see if the pirate would escape from Skull Rock. The Huntsman hoped they all had perished, but Regina knew better. Killian Jones had a talent for surviving. Plus, he had sailed those treacherous waters once before. It would take more than a handful of sirens to destroy him.

Relaxing her grip, Regina plunged deeper into what the Huntsman knew of the situation. The man's suspicion that the dastardly pirate had developed feelings for the fair princess made her stop and roll her eyes.

Of course. She should have guessed he'd fall for the girl. He was the type, after all: a romantic idiot, full of antiquated notions of honor and bravery. He'd always been the more idealistic of the two Jones brothers.

Not for the first time, Regina wondered how different things might be now if she had let Liam live and made an example of young Killian instead. The little brother she had discounted as innocent and meek, unlikely to cause her trouble, had proven himself just the opposite — an untapped font of rage and determination. He'd be no less formidable in his defense of Emma.

Through the Huntsman's eyes, Regina scanned the frigate bobbing a short distance away. It appeared loosely manned, only a few sailors milling about on deck. They trailed a sea anchor and had their sails tightly reefed.

The Huntsman's plan to board the pirate ship, slit Emma's throat, and blame the pirate stood only a faint chance of success even without any impediments. Accompanied by a ship full of Snow's men intent on keeping their beloved princess safe, he'd be lucky to get within canon distance of the girl, let alone arm's length. Something had to be done.

Regina lowered her lips close to the heart until she could feel the warmth of it across her face.

"Captain," she said into it, able to hear the Huntsman parroting her words. "Prepare the canons, please. Discreetly."

"Do you see the pirate ship, sir?" the captain asked.

"That is not our most immediate concern," Regina replied.

"It's…not? Then what is?"

"The frigate. I want you to sink it."

"But…" The captain's mouth formed a hard line. "They are our allies."

"Not anymore." Unused to defiance, Regina's voice turned venomous. "By orders from the queen, you are to destroy that ship and everyone on it. Is that understood?"

The captain looked as if he might refuse, but the power struggle between the two men had evidently already played itself out, because at the long, unflinching look Regina had the Huntsman deliver, he nodded and quietly passed the order along to his first mate.

_That ought to get things back on track._

Satisfied, Regina shot the frigate a farewell grin before depositing the Huntsman's heart back into the drawer. The smell and taste of the sea dissipated as soon as her fingers released it. Whatever happened next, the Huntsman would have to handle on his own. She had better things to do than stand around and guide him through every twist and turn Killian Jones threw his way.

Soon, her own ship was set to arrive.

She had packing to do.

* * *

When Killian woke late the next morning, he found Emma sitting at the table in his quarters with her nose buried in one of Liam's books. At his movement, she stole a quick glance at him over the top of the page.

"I was starting to think you'd sleep all day," she said.

Disoriented, he squinted up at the windows above the bed and ran his hand through his hair as he sat up. Emma had apparently been awake for some time — a half-eaten breakfast sat out upon the table.

"I was up late," he said through a yawn.

"Yeah. I noticed that. Still worried about the sirens?"

At the mention of sirens, he felt a renewed rush of astonishment that she'd come to his rescue and a shiver of tenderness over the way she'd wrapped her arms around him after pulling him up out of the pit.

"No. Not worried. I merely wanted to give you some space," he said, trying to sound offhand and casual but failing miserably at suppressing the husky waver in his voice.

Emma closed her book and stood. Growing up royal had given her an excellent poker face — she rarely gave away her thoughts — but he had a knack for reading people, and he'd made a concerted effort at understanding her in particular. As she walked over to him, he sensed turmoil beneath her mask of calm.

"You don't need to avoid me," she said and held out her hands, as if her lingering in his cabin proved as much.

He arched an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you think that kiss meant something."

"It did," he replied firmly, eyes locked with hers.

Though, hell if he knew exactly what.

"What would mean something," she said on a sigh, her shoulders squared, "is if you helped me get home to my family."

"I am."

She cocked her head, disbelieving. "You are?"

"I never intended to keep you from your loved ones."

"Just to charge them an exorbitant ransom?"

"My plans for ransom were forgotten long ago." At the way she stared at him, he added, "Does that surprise you?"

"Well…you are a pirate.".

"Aye. That I am." He pushed himself up off the bed so that he stood toe to toe with her. "But I also believe in good form. And, Emma…I am far less interested in your father's money than I am in  _you_."

Her throat worked as she swallowed. "Interested in getting me home, you mean? In using me to thwart Regina's plans?"

"And in winning your trust."

"Captain…" She sighed. "This isn't some kind of game you can play to win—"

"I assure you, darling. This is no game."

Emma let out a slow breath. "You can ask for my trust all you want, but until you  _prove_  to me that my faith wouldn't be misplaced, you'll be wasting your breath."

"In that case," he said, motioning for her to follow him with one hand, "I have something to show you."

Wary, despite everything, Emma hesitated, her eyebrows drawn.

"Just some maps, darling," he whispered. "Nothing more. On my honor as a pirate."

She rolled her eyes but cracked a smile. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"I told you I had a plan to get you home," he said as he guided her back over to the table. "Now seems as good a time as any to share it with you."

Her interest caught, Emma allowed him pull out a chair for her, then watched as he strode across the room to retrieve his maps from the bookshelf. He sank down onto the seat next to her and spread the maps out across the table.

"Right now, we're here." He pointed. "And your kingdom is here — four days southwest, as the crow flies."

"I could be home in as a little as four days?"

"Were it not for the queen's forces harassing us. Since we cannot simply sail for the nearest port, we need to make berth somewhere else, somewhere less defended, and send word to your parents from there. This island here—" he indicated a small dot of land on the southernmost edge of Regina's kingdom, "—is a pirate stronghold. A free city under no one's rule. The navy ships could follow us there, but they would be at the mercy of a dozen other pirates galleons if they did."

"So, your plan is to head to this pirate city and then…what? Send a letter?"

"We can send whatever you like with one of the other ships, so long as it will convince your parents that you are alive and well. Once their navy backs off, I will be free to sail you straight home."

Emma mulled this over for a second, her green eyes moving across the map. "What about this? There's a trade route a few leagues east of your island. Why not head there and intercept a merchant ship instead? If it's one from my kingdom, they'll recognize me. And they'll be taken more seriously delivering my message."

"It's riskier," Killian said thoughtfully. "The merchantmen are likely to run when they see us coming. The  _Jolly Roger_  has made a name for herself along that route."

She cast him a glance. "Of course she has."

"But if that is the course you would prefer…"

"You're letting me decide?"

He shrugged. "It's your life at stake."

"So you keep telling me," she said, sounding unconvinced. With one more long look at the map, she nodded. "Yes. That's what I think we should do. Head for the trade route. If that doesn't pan out,  _then_  we can try the pirates."

He smiled at her. "No need to say the word with such disdain, love. We're winning you over. I can feel it."

As usual, Emma brushed off his flirting with an air of exasperated good humor. She'd make a stunning queen one day, he decided. She'd reign with absolute dignity, strength, and honor. If only he'd been born a hundred leagues farther south and ended up under the rule of Emma's family instead of Regina's. How different things might be now…

A knock at his cabin door disrupted his thoughts.

"Captain?" Smee's muffled voice called out. "Sorry to disturb you…"

Good gods. He hadn't even eaten breakfast yet. "Whatever it is, Mr. Smee, it can wait."

"No. Captain. It can't." After a beat with no response, he added, "It's about the Evil Queen. Trust me. You're both going to want to see this."

Emma glanced up at the door. "We'll be up in a moment!" she announced, her eyes quickly darting back to meet Killian's, eager to see how he would react to her overstepping.

He responded by flashing her an indulgent smile, then getting up to pull on his boots and leather coat before bolting down what remained of Emma's breakfast.

"Ladies first," he said, sweeping an arm toward the ladder.

They climbed out onto the main deck and discovered most of the crew crowded along the port side.

"What's going on?" Killian asked.

Smee pushed a spyglass into his hands. "Have a look for yourself," he said, pointing due east.

The crew parted to make way as he moved to the railing. With a frown, he lifted the spyglass to his eye and surveyed the horizon until he circle of his vision landed upon two ships locked in battle.

Muzzle flashes from canon blasts sparked like fireflies through the haze of smoke. He squinted, trying to make out the ships' flags. A glimmer from the larger ship's figurehead — silver and blue unicorns — confirmed what he already suspected and solidified the sick feeling in his stomach.

The frigate looked like it had been caught unaware. It was taking on water fast, and only returned fire a handful of times while the Evil Queen's corvette lobbed shot after shot at close range into her belly.

Emma tugged at his sleeve. "What is it?"

Eyes cast down, he handed her the spyglass.

Her whole body stiffened when she spotted the ships, the color draining from her face when she recognized her own.

"They're sinking! We have to go help them!"

"There's nothing we can do, love," Killian said with a shake of his head. "We're too far away. By the time we get there, the whole ship will be underwater."

"But there could be survivors."

"Regina's men will not leave any. Even if they did, there would be little we could do to help them while taking fire ourselves."

"We could fight. Us against one other ship — those aren't bad odds."

"What would be the point of such a battle?" he said, reaching out to touch her arm. "It wouldn't bring them back. And I will not risk your life unnecessarily."

She pulled away from him. "That's rich, coming from you."

With a frustrated grumble, she shoved the spyglass back at Smee and stormed across the deck to the starboard side. Even though she'd rebuffed his poor attempt at comfort, Killian followed. She looked stricken, grief and confusion mixing with her anger.

"I don't understand why Regina would do this. They were working together. They were allies."

"Perhaps whatever use she had for your father's navy has been fulfilled," he suggested.

"So now she does away with them?"

"I'd save them if I could," he said, his heart aching for her.

"I'm not blaming you," Emma assured him. "This is on Regina." She steadied herself against the railing, then turned to face him. "She really  _does_  have some plot against my family. Doesn't she? Whatever she wanted with me, if this has anything to do with it…"

"You know as much about it as I do. My spies indicated that she planned to abduct you. Nothing more. I had hoped you'd be able to shed some light onto why."

"I've never even met her. I have no idea what she'd want with me."

"She has never had an occasion to visit your kingdom?" he asked, surprised. The two shared a long border. Surely, the two monarchies spoke from time to time.

"Except for when I passed through her land on my way to…" Emma trailed off with an uncomfortable grimace at the reminder of her would-be suitor. "Aside from my most recent trip, I don't think she's ever set foot in our kingdom or vice versa."

"Is there some reason why? Bad blood, perhaps?"

She shrugged. "Ideological differences, I guess. My mother has disliked Regina for as long as I can remember."

Contemplating this, they lingered together on deck, the mood somber. The  _Jolly Roger_  maintained a speedy course away from Skull Rock, the specter of the sinking frigate moving along the horizon as they passed parallel to it. Through the spyglass, Killian watched as the embattled ship vanished beneath the waves and the corvette circled the wreckage.

It would be coming for them next.  _For Emma._

But it would have to catch them first.

He snapped the spyglass shut and called out a course that put them at full sail with the wind at their backs. Ducking under the rigging, he climbed the companionway to the helm. There was nothing he could do about the sunken ship, but he sure as hell could keep their princess safe. If whatever Regina had planned relied on Emma being out of the picture, then he had to bring her back into it. She needed to get home. The sooner, the better.

A deep frown wrinkling the corners of her mouth, Emma crossed the deck below him and, without saying a word, vanished below.

He didn't pursue her, figuring that she'd come to him if she wanted to talk. On such a small ship, solitude could be difficult to come by. If she'd found some and needed it, he didn't want to disrupt it.

Fair weather held all afternoon. The bright sun warmed his back and shoulders. Sea gulls and pelicans appeared to fly alongside the ship as they passed near an archipelago of unpopulated islands.

His eyes traveled time and again to the hatch leading below deck, hoping to see Emma there, but she remained cloistered. Finally, his curiosity bested him and he left the helm to go in search of her.

He found her alone in the galley, aggressively kneading an abused lump of dough. She had her back to the door and her sleeves rolled up, the muscles in her arms and back bunching and relaxing as her hands moved in tandem.

At the sound of his footsteps, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.

"Don't stop on my account, love," he said, his hands held up in supplication.

"Wouldn't think of it," she replied, sounding a little out of breath. With a distracted frown, she dusted her hands off on her pants, then pushed the bowl of dough aside to pick up a knife.

Killian sat against the edge of the table and watched as she fetched an apple out of an open barrel and chopped it in half with a swift downward stroke of the blade.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Getting ready for a fight." She hacked the apple into fourths, then sliced out each section of core with a flick of her wrist.

"I've never known you to need to get ready for a fight," he said, hoping to lighten the mood. "I thought it was a natural state."

Emma sighed. "Well, this isn't just a fight. Is it? It's war. Sinking one of my father's frigates and killing every man on board isn't something he will forgive. It isn't something  _I_  will forgive."

Killian stepped up beside her and gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist, steadying the knife she held between them. His angled his body close to hers, then carefully tugged the knife free of her fingers and laid it back down beside the apples. Emma looked up at him through the veil of her eyelashes with an air of irritation.

"Here," he said and handed her his flask of rum.

She raised her eyebrows. "Is rum your solution to everything?"

"It certainly doesn't hurt."

With a shake of her head, she took it from him, uncapped it, and took a long drink.

"I know what it's like to be betrayed by the Evil Queen," he said, remaining close as she slowly licked the last of the rum off her bottom lip.

A tight smile drew her mouth into a straight line. "I know you do." She handed him back the flask. "I was actually thinking…once I get home, Regina's going to have to answer for what she's done. Your goals and mine will be aligned."

"Your point?" he prompted.

Her green eyes met his. "There's no reason you have to avenge Liam all by yourself. You could work with us to the same end and actually be a part of something."

"Are you trying to recruit me?"

She shrugged one shoulder.

"I doubt your father would welcome a pirate into his military," he replied dryly and took his own sip of rum before returning the flask to his belt. "In any event, I have no desire to return to life as an officer."

"How is it any different than the life you're leading now?"

"Being your own boss has its rewards." He smirked at her. "As does being a pirate. Beautiful captives, for one."

"Are you saying I'm not your first?" she asked, the sassiness in her voice a welcome change.

"I'm not saying anything. But you're most certainly my favorite, darling." He winked.

 _There. At last._ A genuine smile.

"I guess I owe you an apology for all the times I didn't believe you about Regina. And a thank you for…" She trailed off and rolled her eyes dramatically, humor lightening her voice. "For  _saving_  me."

Killian inclined his head toward hers in a mock bow. "I am more than willing to receive your thanks at any time, my lady. But no need for apologies. You didn't understand the woman's treachery."

At that, he saw Emma's thoughts set to churning. She seemed to contemplate for some time whether to actually say what was on her mind before clearing her throat.

"I know it must be hard to talk about," she began, her voice low, her hand coming up to brush his arm. "But…what exactly happened to Liam?"

Killian froze. Since Liam died, he'd never talked about it with anyone. All of the men on his ship knew more-or-less what had happened and understood not to bring it up. Until now, no one else had gotten close enough to ask — none of the women he'd been with since had even known of Liam's existence. It wasn't something he knew how to discuss. But as he looked down at Emma, he realized suddenly that he wanted to. He wanted her to understand.

"Regina killed him," he said quietly.

Emma leaned in a fraction closer to him. "Why?"

"She sent us on a mission," he began, recalling the day years before when Liam had arrived on board the  _Jewel of the Realm_  with orders fresh from the queen. "We were to go to a place not of this realm — a place called Neverland — and retrieve a plant purported to cure any ill."

"Dreamshade?" Emma guessed.

Surprised, he flinched away from her. "How did you know?"

"I found a drawing of it in your coat pocket on my first day here."

Ah. Right. Back when she'd been hell-bent on destroying him and escaping his ship. Gods, that felt like forever ago.

"Aye. It was dreamshade."

"Did you find it?"

He nodded. "But it was not what she claimed."

"Not medicine."

"Far from it. Dreamshade is poison. Even the smallest drop will kill. Three of our men became sick and died while collecting it." His mind's eye was so deep in the past, recalling the way black lines of poison had raced across the men's bodies to their hearts — the way they had sweated and shuddered and called out in delirium as they died — that he barely saw the sympathetic expression on Emma's face. "We knew she couldn't possibly have an honorable use for such a thing, so we left all of it on the island, then burned the pegasus sail that had allowed us to travel there when we returned."

He'd felt so self-righteous watching that sail go up in flames, feathers coming loose to plunge like falling stars into the ocean. In his youth and naiveté, he'd had no idea the wrath that awaited them. But Liam must have known. He'd implored Killian to remain quiet during their conference with the queen.

"When we reported back to the queen what we had done, I thought perhaps she might demote us. Take away Liam's command," he continued. Instead, she had shot across the room, her dress swirling around her like a thundercloud. His voice hitched as he continued. "She didn't say anything. Just walked over to Liam, ripped out his heart, and crushed it."

Emma gasped.

After Liam had collapsed on the floor, his heart turned to dust in the queen's palm, Regina had offhandedly promoted Killian to captain before sweeping from the room, believing she had made her point.

Tears streaking his cheeks, Killian had carried his brother's body all the way back to the  _Jewel of the Realm_ , able to feel Liam growing cooler all the way. They'd sailed out to sea to bury him, and Killian rallied the men that very afternoon, declaring that they would no longer take orders from the queen and would forevermore sail as lawless pirates, hell-bent on revenge.

Emma swallowed hard and grasped his hand, her fingers interlocking with his. "What she did to you is unforgivable. She'll answer for it. I swear."

Feeling utterly naked and exposed, Killian turned his face away from her and dropped her hand. "Aye. That she will. Listen…I have duties to tend to. You should come up on deck. You're missing a lovely day."

"I'm happy right here," Emma said, the tone of her voice making him look at her again. The expression on her face knocked the wind out of him — her mouth turned down with sadness, but her eyes on fire with something soft and passionate that he didn't feel comfortable putting a name to.

Her eyelashes fluttered and her body swayed toward his, caught in a magnetic pull neither one of them could resist. Before he knew what she was about, she closed her eyes and brushed her lips gently across his.

Unlike their first kiss, this one seemed almost innocent and naive in its care.

He didn't pull away or respond at first, not sure if this was an effort at comforting him or something more. Her fingers traced a delicate line up the front of his chest to his shoulders and she broke with his lips long enough to let out a long breath against them.

"I thought there wasn't going to be anymore kissing," he couldn't help saying.

Her forehead bumped against his. "I'm making the choice to trust you."

"Good," he murmured, right before her mouth closed over his once more. Her nails bit into his shoulders as she hauled herself up against him.

In the relative privacy of the empty galley, he didn't need to hold back.

His right hand slipped down to rest in the small of her back while his left cupped the side of her face. Her jaw trembled under his palm as he kissed her long and hard, pausing only for short gasps. He didn't dare ask for anything more — enjoying each warm press her of her lips, each puff of breath on his cheek, and the easy slotting of her body against his — until the tip of her tongue darted out to slide across his bottom lip.

Heat coiled low in his stomach, the tightness forcing out a low groan.

One of Emma's hands gripped the hair at the back of his head, and he lost all train of conscious thought as she pulled him deeper — her tongue moving against his; his teeth scraping and nipping at her lips. His fingers curled against her back, urging her closer, unable to get enough contact even as the world blurred away.

He broke with her mouth to press kisses along her cheek.

Emma tilted her head and moaned when he bit her earlobe.

The way she shuddered and melted into him set him on fire. He nibbled, licked, and sucked a path down her neck, unaware that they were moving until Emma backed into the galley table. Her hand shot out to catch herself, knocking something to the floor with a noisy clatter.

He couldn't have cared less what.

Half-sitting now with his body snuggled between her knees, she fisted a hand in his collar and used her leverage to haul him back up to her mouth.

He obliged, kissing her soundly, convinced that he had never really kissed a woman until this moment because, by the gods, it had never rocked him like this before. The press of her knee rising up the outside of his leg made him see white. And… _bloody hell_. Had that ragged groan come from him?

The sound, a clear indication things had gotten out of hand, made him draw back. His leather coat creaked as he shifted his weight.

Emma followed him but slowed down, pressing gentle kisses to the sides of his mouth, the tips of her fingers brushing over the stubble on his cheek. Eyes closed, his heart singing, Killian ran his fingers through her hair while their lips continued to seek out soft, tender kisses. Emma's knee, which had snuck all the way up to his thigh, slid gently back down until her foot thumped against the floor.

When he finally paused and opened his eyes, Emma looked back at him unabashed.

He'd half expected the kiss to throw her into demure princess mode. Instead, she wore the openly passionate expression of a not-wholly-satisfied woman.

"So, you have duties to tend to?" she said, pushing him back a step as she eased herself off the table.

"Aye," was all he could rasp out.

She smiled. "Then I should let you get back to them."

Dazed — much more so than her, it seemed — he watched as she stepped around him and scooped up the apple slices. Her back to him, she bit into one. It gave them both a moment in which to collect themselves.

Even as the buzz of arousal faded, an unbearably tight feeling remained in Killian's heart.

It hit him.

Somehow — in between battling sea serpents and almost getting eaten alive by sirens — he'd fallen for her.

He ran a hand through his hair, dismayed.

Nothing good could come of this, he thought. Even if Emma wanted more, they could never be together. Could they? She had a kingdom to return to and people who depended on her. He had a dead brother to avenge — a quest he'd likely not survive.

It hadn't bothered him until now.

He looked over at Emma — beautiful, noble, true, the most amazing woman he'd ever met — and realized that he had a  _lot_  to live for. A lot to  _hope_  for. Even if it went against all odds. He didn't want to perish at Regina's hand. He wanted more, a future beyond his quest. He wanted to be part of something.  _With her._

"I think I'd like to enjoy some time in the sun after all," Emma said, offering him her hand.

Breathless, he motioned for her to go ahead of him.

"I'll be along in a moment."

She sent him a knowing look before nodding and heading out of the galley. But she didn't know — she couldn't — that for the first time in his life, he was head over heels in love.

* * *

From her balcony, Regina could see the red and gold flag on the warship docked in her harbor. It had arrived exactly as expected, and she'd had her palace guards there to meet it. She waited now for them to return, pacing slowly as the mystical face in her mirror watched.

"Why are you worried, your highness?" he asked.

She shot the mirror a withering glance. "I'm not."

He didn't look convinced. "It has been many years since you last saw your sister, are you certain that—"

"Snow White is  _not_  my sister," she growled.

Frowning, the mirror quieted.

Regina had known him once as a man, back when her mother had first taken the throne. He'd been one of the palace servants and fancied himself in love with the queen's fresh-faced daughter. Regina hadn't returned his feelings but had often found them useful to manipulate. She'd led him on for years, leveraging his love for her whenever she needed information or something done she didn't want to risk on her own.

When Regina finally worked up the ambition to overthrow her mother, he had been the one at her side helping to orchestrate the coup. With a spell acquired from the Dark One, she'd pushed Cora straight through the mirror, banishing her to another realm. And then she'd cursed her partner in crime to its confines — ensuring that he would neither turn on her nor reveal her secret.

Why she kept him around after that, she wasn't certain. She could have broken the mirror ages ago and put him out of his misery. Maybe it was that he didn't actually seem miserable. The love-sick fool enjoyed playing her confidant just as much from within his mirrored prison as he had from within the castle walls. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she liked having someone to talk freely to. Not to mention someone who continued to tout her unparalleled beauty even as she aged.

A knock on the door to her chambers interrupted her pacing. Quickly, she straightened her skirts, raised her chin a notch, and commanded the men on the other side to enter.

A group of four guards, their faces obscured by black masks and helmets, walked in hauling along a middled-aged man dressed in one of Snow's naval uniforms.

"Captain." Regina smirked. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"What do you want with me, witch?" he demanded, his face ruddy.

"It's a rather long list. To start…I'd like your heart."

The guards gripped the captain hard by the arms, the four of them able to hold him no matter how hard he struggled.

Fingers flexing, Regina channeled her dark magic into the palm of her hand, then plunged it deep into his chest, wringing a cry loose from his lips. His heart pulsed with pain and fear as she grasped it, hand closing tight around the powerful ball of his life's energy. Sinew snapped as she twisted it free, severing the organ's ties to his body, and wrenched it out between his ribs. It throbbed hot and heavy in her palm, a wave of sensation and memory washing over her as the man slumped to his knees.

In a flash, she saw the moment when her ship had turned on his, launching a surprise attack. Her sailors had boarded during the night and slaughtered every man aboard, leaving only the captain alive. For the rest of the journey, he had been tossed into the brig, kept there without contact or sunlight or more than a piddling amount of food and water until arriving this morning in the busy main port of Regina's kingdom.

Eyebrows drawn in concentration, Regina dug deeper into his mind, searching…seeking.

A smile lit her face.

_Yes. Perfect._

He was familiar with the princess, had spent time in her company and had seen her recently — right before she'd left on her journey to meet with the Dark One's son.

"This will do nicely," she told the captain. "Thank you."

With a purple poof of magic, she transformed herself. When the cloud settled, the spell complete, she glanced at herself in the mirror, checking her work. Although Regina had never met Emma, the face that stared back struck her as familiar — blonde hair, green eyes, beautiful like her mother, but with the stronger features of her father.

The ship captain's jaw gaped open wide as he regarded her.

"You're…"

"More powerful than you ever dreamed," Regina finished for him, the voice she spoke with not her own. She still held the man's heart in her hand, which she now rose to her lips. "And I'm not done with you yet, captain. I want you to take me back to your ship. You fought the pirate and won, saved your beloved princess. Now you need to take her home."

His eyes glazed over as the orders processed. When he blinked, the expression on his face shifted from horror to joy.

"Princess Emma!" He barked out a relieved laugh. "You're safe. Thank the gods. The king and queen have been worried sick."

With a nod from Regina, the guards let the man go.

"Well then, we should get going." She approached the man and offered her arm. "I can't wait to see my mother and father again."


	8. In Which Emma Visits the Pirate City

Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last  
Hope, Power, and Life upon a single cast?  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 8: In Which Emma Visits the Pirate City

Emma gripped the ship's rail and released a long breath, her blood still coursing from her kiss with Killian in the galley. The gentle sea breeze helped to cool her cheeks and calm her racing heart.

She hadn't  _meant_  kiss him. But as he'd told her how his brother died, she'd watched his pirate persona slowly break down, the thick aura of charisma and machismo dissolving away with his words until the injured man underneath stood raw and exposed before her. For the first time, she saw him sans all masks and bravado. That she liked what she saw hadn't come as a surprise — she'd been fighting back an instinctive affection for him since arriving on the  _Jolly Roger_  — but it  _did_  surprise her how his display of vulnerability made the urge to touch and comfort him suddenly irresistible, as if the sharp edges of his grief had severed her last whispery thread of self-control.

She'd closed her eyes and leapt...right into his arms.

_So much for a one time thing._

His embrace was becoming a familiar place. She'd never been long in his company without ending up there: first, during their sword fight; then when he'd saved her from the sea serpent; and, again, right afterward when she'd fainted dead at his feet. The fates seemed to know precisely where they wanted her.

Killian emerged from below deck. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he took his place at the helm, looking for all the world as if nothing had happened.

Sensing that she should do the same, Emma strode over to Turley, who was battling a complicated bit of rigging, and tried to make herself useful. Turley praised and thanked her for her assistance but she got the impression that he'd have gotten the task done just as quickly without her. After that, with all the other crew members seemingly occupied, she decided to simply stay out of their way and enjoy the pleasant afternoon.

Toward dinner time, Ed waved everyone over to the port side where a pod of dolphins swam next to the ship, their shiny gray backs sewing paths through the water.

"Ah! A good omen!" Killian said with a grin.

Emma glanced at him, surprised. "I didn't think you were superstitious."

"I'm a sailor, love. Comes with the territory. And in any case, believing those beasts a happy portent hardly qualifies as a superstition."

"I suppose you believe in bird signs, too?" Emma teased.

He shrugged, a sideways smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. "The last ones we saw certainly boded ill."

_Can't argue with that._  Dolphins beat the hell out of all the other sea life they'd seen recently.

Shaking her head, Emma turned back to the frolicking dolphins and silently took back what she'd said. They  _were_  a good omen. They meant that the  _Jolly Roger_  had passed out of the dangerous wilds and back into the more sedate, familiar seas close to shore. Close to  _home_.

After a while, the pod broke away and Emma went to the galley to eat dinner. Killian remained at the helm, so once she was done with her meal, she filled a plate with food and brought it up to him.

He accepted it with a silent nod of thanks.

"You're not avoiding me again. Are you?" she asked.

"I never avoided you in the first place, darling."

She sighed. "If you say so. But you haven't set foot away from the wheel since we kissed."

"My diligence has nothing to do with that," he insisted. "We are on a dangerous course, likely to encounter many navy ships as we make our way toward your trade route. At present, my duties as captain outweigh my personal desires."

A flimsy excuse, Emma thought. But she sensed an undercurrent of truth to it, so she let the issue drop.

That night, she didn't hear him come to bed. When she woke the next morning, he was already up, pulling on his boots and heading out the door.

All morning, they saw nothing but noisy seagulls and white, cotton ball clouds. In early afternoon, Skylights spotted something on the horizon that might have been another ship, so they changed course to swing wide around it. No one pursued them.

Two days out from the trade route, they met their first hostile ship — one of Regina's. The  _Jolly Roger_  outran it with only a brief exchange of fire, but the battle served as a solid reminder to the whole crew, including Emma, of the very real danger fueling Killian's tireless focus.

She sought him out anyway, accustomed to his presence and missing it, especially at night when she would lie awake waiting to hear his cabin door swing open and his familiar steps descending the ladder. More often than not, she gave in to sleep before he gave up his watch. The night she threw off the covers and climbed back up into the chilly night air to join  _him_  at his vigil, they spotted their first merchant ship. They had to get close in the murky, new moon gloom of the night to see what flag she flew. Emma recognized it as belonging to one of the northern kingdoms, one that hers had never done much trade with. The moment the ship saw them, it turned and ran.

"Let them go," Emma said, stilling Killian's hand on the wheel. It was their first real physical contact in days, and it sent an electric shiver up her arm.

She saw his fingers tighten on the wheel and when he turned to look at her, he pressed his lips together as if to physically restrain them from kissing her of their own will. Emma's eyelids grew heavy at the small indication of his desire, wanting him to kiss her, hoping that he would. A swell of disappointment washed over her when he looked away, diffusing the charge between them with an offhanded comment about her having the makings of an excellent pirate.

For another solid day, they prowled along the trade route, searching for the perfect mark. Emma passed on several ships before one flying her own flag sailed into view: a handsome merchantman heading south, its belly so heavy with cargo that it rode low in the water. Across the deck of the pirate ship, Emma saw avarice flare to life in the eyes of the crew, the whole lot of them practically salivating at the obvious wealth waiting on board. She'd almost forgotten that the  _Jolly Roger_  made a living plucking ripe fruit from this vine.

"Let's go get her, mates!" Killian called out.

He leaned hard on the wheel, bringing the ship about.

The  _Jolly Roger_  ran down the merchantman with the practiced ease of a cat snatching a bird. Unarmed, the other ship's only recourse was to turn and face the  _Roger_  head on, its beaked prow as good as a battering ram. Killian anticipated the maneuver and quickly managed to swing around broadside, a warning shot fired across their bow enough to bring them to heel.

Emma stood on the forecastle deck and watched the two ships sidle up to one another. The slap of the gangplank going down between them made her flinch, all of it a visceral reminder of the day she'd been abducted.

"Alright there, love?" Killian asked.

Emma gave herself a mental shake.

"Fine."

He nodded and unsheathed his sword before crossing the plank to the other ship. Emma followed not far behind, along with the bulk of the crew.

"We wish to speak to your captain," Killian announced the moment his feet hit the merchantman's deck.

A tall, balding man with a massive red beard stepped forward. "I'm the captain."

"Ah. A courageous soul. Splendid." Killian strode up to him, leading with his sword, his body language cocky and aggressive. "We have a message for you to deliver."

"A…a message?"

"Aye. For your queen."

The captain's mouth went slack and he squinted at Killian, flummoxed. "That's all you want? You're not going to rob us?"

"Alas. Not today."

He waved Emma forward, up to his side.

The moment she separated herself from the rest of the group, all eyes focused on her. She didn't think the merchant sailors, afraid for their lives, had even noticed her among the pirates until now.

Though she didn't know him, the captain recognized her immediately.

" _Princess Emma?_ " He looked her up and down, eyes pausing for a stunned second on the hilt of the cutlass peeking up over her shoulder. "What are you…? Why…?"

"It's a long story," she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

The captain did not look even remotely put at ease. A quick glance over his men and those standing behind her made it quite clear why — the ragged, bristly bunch of thieves and rascals she'd been traveling with stood armed to the teeth, a growling bunch of mangy dogs. The merchant sailors seemed a fresh-faced bunch of puppies in comparison.

Turning her attention back to the captain, Emma gestured for him to follow her several steps away so that they could speak out of earshot, then withdrew the letter she had prepared for her mother from her pocket and held it out to him.

"I need you to deliver this to the castle for me."

He cast an uneasy glance at Killian as he took it. "Is it a ransom letter?" he asked under his breath.

"No. Nothing like that. It's to reassure my parents that I am okay and on my way home."

"And…you are?" he asked, skeptical. "Okay, I mean? They haven't been mistreating you? I know we're just a bunch of unarmed sailors, but if you're in danger, m'lady, we'd do whatever we had to—"

"I'm fine," Emma said, cutting him off. "Don't worry. Just deliver my message. I'll make sure that you and your crew are rewarded for your service when I return home."

His doubts would not be assuaged. "Your  _friends_  here are just going to let us go?"

"That's the plan."

"What makes you think they'll follow through with your plan?"

Emma turned the question over in her head, thinking it over honestly before replying, "They've earned my trust."

He gave her a pitying look. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. But you're young. And you haven't seen much of the world. I know it must be tempting to believe the best about these people, but trust me — they are bad men. Pure and simple. They're thieves. Murderers. Each and every one of them would skin a man alive for a copper. You  _can't_ trust them."

"I trust  _him_ ," Emma said, a flick of her head in Killian's direction.

"Captain Jones? I know of him. He's the worst of the lot."

The naked hostility in the man's voice made Emma wonder if he had personally encountered the  _Jolly Roger_  before. Though she found it difficult to believe that anyone coming face to face with Killian Jones, even accounting for the facade he put on, would continue to believe in the image of him as a brutal, evil man.

How had he even come by such a reputation to begin with? She couldn't imagine him earning it honestly, as it were, by stealing and slaying and wreaking havoc on the high seas. But what else explained it?

Both versions of the man couldn't be real.

"If you mean to return home," the captain continued, "then why not stay with us? You'd have a much safer trip, I'd wager, on board my innocuous schooner than on that notorious brig."

The suggestion blindsided Emma. Somehow, the possibility of leaving the  _Jolly Roger_  had never occurred to her, but it made a terrible amount of sense — much more than her own plan. On the merchant ship, she wouldn't need to worry about being attacked by one of Regina's war ships, or hide out on a lawless island full of thieves, or bet her life upon the inherent goodness of the very man who had abducted her. Yet the captain's proposal held no appeal.

"Just deliver the letter for me," she said and turned away, hoping he hadn't noticed her misgivings.

Killian waved her ahead of him, then ordered his crew back across the gangplank, allowing none of them the chance to so much as touch the valuable merchandise in the hold. They obeyed, but grumbled discontentedly over their lost chance at plunder, openly wondering what might-have-been had they been allowed to gut the ship properly.

As the two sailed away from one another — the  _Jolly Roger_  toward the mysterious pirate city and the merchantman toward Emma's kingdom — she looked at the surly group of men surrounding her, at the knives and swords worn conspicuously at their belts, and wondered,  _Why the hell am I still here?_

Needing a few moments alone with her thoughts, she turned and went below deck, all the way to the cargo hold which was quiet, dim, and the one place on the entire ship she figured she might find some solitude.

Even that, however, proved elusive. She'd barely taken a breath, her feelings all in a tangle, when footsteps approached and the door creaked open.

Killian walked in.

The tension of the past several days had left him. He stood with his shoulders relaxed, his hands unclenched, and his face no longer tight with the now familiar lines of concern. Turning toward the safety of the pirate city had lifted the dark cloud of anxiety he'd been living under, and —  _oh my_  — she'd completely forgotten how recklessly handsome he looked when he smiled, carefree and entirely focused on  _her_.

"Emma," he said, taking a step toward her.

He surprised her, after spending so many days keeping her at arm's length, by taking her by the hand and pulling her close for a swift kiss.

It landed awkwardly, connecting only with one side of her mouth. Even that — the warmth of his hand on hers, the scratch of his stubble on her lips, the smell of him filling her lungs — made her eyes wink shut, her uncertainty crumble.

_Oh yeah_ , she thought.  _ **This**_ _is why I'm still here_.

His free hand slipped around her waist, easing her into a proper embrace. This time his lips landed firmly on top of hers. She took everything he gave and demanded more, starving for him after being denied any contact for so long. He kissed her aggressively, expertly, until she was left dangling from the lapels of his coat.

In the darkness of the cargo hold, he guided her backwards and boosted her up on top of a cask of rum. The hand holding hers let go to tangle in her hair, burrowing until it cupped the very back of her head. She responded by hooking one leg around his hip and releasing the grip she had on his coat in favor of the softer, smoother material of his shirt and waistcoat. White-knuckled, she tugged him closer, deeper, until she heard the unmistakable pop of a stitch coming loose.

Killian chuckled against her mouth and muttered something unintelligible.

His teeth nipped playfully at her lips as his hand snuck underneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers playing over the ridges of her spine before slipping around to her side to strum up and down her ribs. A delicious quiver raced all the way down to her toes.

Delirious with desire, Emma managed to work his coat off before they were finally interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and she left a large hickey on the side of his neck that the wide-open collar of his shirt did precious little to conceal.

He wore it like a badge of honor.

Every time she looked at him for the rest of the day, the obvious evidence of their stolen moment left her lightheaded. Giddy. Like a teenager in love for the very first time.

Which, she supposed, was not so far off from the truth.

As a princess, she'd been courted by nearly every nobleman in the kingdom, but only a handful had caught her attention. She'd always been careful, making certain that every man she dared to kiss remained discreet about it and understood, in no uncertain terms, exactly what they meant to her — which was to say, nothing. She'd never snuck off into shadowy corners to seize a few more seconds with a man before, and never met anyone who'd truly been able to establish a grip on her heart. Not until she'd met Killian Jones. Every time  _he_  touched her, it left her wanting. Craving.

She liked him.

Maybe  _more_  than liked him.

And she didn't want to leave the  _Jolly Roger_  before she had the chance to work out exactly what he meant to her.

They needed more time. She wasn't done here yet.

* * *

Regina hated everything about being at sea: the flat, endless expanse of water; the brine stench of fish, salt, and the lemon lye soap the sailors used to scrub the deck; the inexhaustible wind; and, worst of all, the boredom.

In disguise as Princess Emma, she hadn't been able to bring along any of her belongings. She'd made one exception — a leather pouch in which she stored the captain's enchanted heart. Save for that, she carried nothing on her person that might identify her as an impostor. With all the work she'd done to get to this point, nothing was worth the risk of exposure. She had to  _be_  Emma, through and through. Which meant tolerating the trip without snapping someone's neck, no matter how tempting.

Even her clothing bothered.

Regina had grown used to dressing as a queen. Emma, as a royal, was entitled to the same sort of finery, but Regina had gleaned from the captain's memories that the girl favored a simpler, plebeian look.

Pulling her pants down from where they'd gathered uncomfortably in her crotch —  _again_  — Regina grumbled under her breath and climbed the stairs to the main deck. Immediately, the wind plastered Emma's massive mane of blonde hair over her face.

Barely biting back a curse, she shoved it aside.

"Princess!" The captain waved at her. "I was just about to fetch you."

" _Why_?" The word came out sharper than Regina had intended. Consciously softening her attitude, she added, "Is there something you need from me?"

"No, m'lady." He gestured over her shoulder. "Just thought you might enjoy the view. We're almost home."

Regina turned and spotted the form of a city on the horizon.

Snow's capitol.

Several dozen ships sat docked in the harbor. Beyond them rose a neat, tidy city and, past that, the spires of the castle, gleaming white in the afternoon sun. It looked like a picturesque, fairy-tale kind of place. Insufferably perfect and pure. Just like its queen.

Regina watched from the port side as they sailed into the harbor.

Several of the sailors she had hand-picked to replace the original crew looked uncomfortable as they came in to dock, conspicuously glancing about as if they expected to be caught at any moment. The captain remained blithely oblivious to their nerves, a smile plastered across his face as he guided the ship home. Regina could sense the delighted pulsing of his heart in the pouch at her hip — the same steady beat a dog made thumping its tail against the floor in anticipation of a treat.

No one paid the ship much mind.

_That won't do._

Regina climbed up onto the forecastle to ensure she'd be spotted as the ship weighed anchor.

Then, she heard it. Soft at first, but rising.

Murmurs.

People began to stop and point.

_The princess has returned._

The captain kept Regina close at hand, guiding her down off the ship and ordering his men to keep back the crowd as they moved into the city. Pleased with herself, Regina smiled serenely as they shuttled her along.

A group of soldiers on horseback met them in short order.

One of the men boosted Regina up onto the back of a dappled gray mare that snorted and struck its hoof against the cobblestones as she settled into the saddle. Then, with thundering speed, they galloped down the city streets toward the castle. Excited chatter followed her all the way, her passage like a torch to a dry field.

Word traveled even faster than she did.

When they arrived at the castle gate, a woman's voice cried out. " _Emma!_ "

The gate trundled up, and Snow White ducked underneath it.

Regina shouldn't have felt surprised by the sight of her step-sister. She'd spoken to the woman through her enchanted mirror recently enough to know precisely what she looked like. Even so, Regina's mental image of Snow had long been of the seventeen year old girl Cora had ejected from their kingdom. To see her in person now, more than forty, was jarring. Snow retained much of her legendary beauty, but age had begun to creep in around the edges — years that Regina had held back with the help of magic and glamor. Snow's face had grown rounder, her hips wider, and the innocence that Regina had so closely associated with her had evaporated, replaced with the weight and worry characteristic of both a queen and a mother.

Already uncomfortable, but committed to playing the part, Regina slipped off her horse as Snow ran up.

"Emma!" she cried out again, her arms wrapping tight and trembling around Regina.

Not sure how to respond, she stood prone. She'd anticipated this scene, had practiced it in her head, but all the rehearsals in the world hadn't prepared her for the real thing.

She froze, thrown.

In short order, David joined the fray.

The king, charming and handsome as ever, trotted up behind his wife and looped his arms around the both of them, his big hand coming up to cradle the back of Regina's head like a baby's.

"Emma! Gods! We thought you were dead!" He rocked them slowly back and forth.

"Well…I'm not," Regina muttered into his shoulder. "I'm okay. And…you're causing a scene."

"A scene?" He let both of them go. "We've had the whole navy out looking for the pirate the kidnapped you. What happened? Did you get away?"

Regina stepped away while she had the chance. "The captain here rescued me," she said, gesturing to him.

David motioned for the man and the rest of the guards to follow them, then escorted his wife and daughter back into the castle. Wedged between them, their hands heavy on her shoulders, Regina distracted herself by examining the ramparts — so far unmarred by the ogre wars — and the thick tapestries covering the walls inside. They gave the hollow, stone hallways a warm, homespun ambiance.  _Like living inside a patchwork pillow_ , Regina thought derisively.

Since they had an entourage, David and Snow took her to the where they held court, a squeaky clean but obviously well-used room with white and silver marble floors and huge pennants displaying the family's royal sigil. Neither Snow nor David had a throne, choosing to stand level with their people instead.

When prompted, the naval captain parroted back the story Regina had fed him — that his ship had come upon the pirate's in bad weather and engaged it in battle, only to discover Emma locked up in the brig once they boarded. She'd been kept in the small hold with only a little food and water, he explained, beaten and abused. At this revelation, Regina felt Snow's arm slip around her once more.

"We brought her back to our ship and set sail immediately for home."

"And what of the pirate?" David asked.

"Unknown. I deemed tending to the princess's well-being the more important matter. We left them as they were. Their ship was badly damaged. It's possible that it did not outlast the storm."

David nodded. "Let's hope it rests on the bottom of the ocean where it cannot terrorize another soul."

_Yes. Let's._

They heaped accommodations on the captain before dismissing him.

Once everyone had left, Snow turned to Regina.

"He said you were mistreated," she said softly, flinching at her own words. "Should I call a doctor? Do you need…?"

"No. Thank you," Regina replied, putting on what she thought to be a brave face. "Right now, I think I'd just like to eat and get some rest."

"Yes. Of course."

With a word, Snow sent her husband off to retrieve some food. ( _Don't they have servants for that?_  Regina wondered.) Then, hand firm at Regina's back, Snow guided her out of the main hall and toward Emma's bedroom. She tried to memorize the route, aware that she'd need to appear familiar with the castle's layout and would only have these few moments in which to absorb everything she needed to know.

Emma's bedroom looked the part of a princess's quarters.

Almost.

A big, four poster bed took up most of the room, flanked on one side by an armoire bursting with silks, satins, and sparkles, and on the other by an extensive vanity. Crystal baubles from her childhood lined every shelf. And, on a pedestal near the window where it caught the sunlight, sat a delicate crown. But the room also showed signs of being occupied by someone with more practical concerns. A sword sat on end at the head of the bed. A drawer, half-open, overflowed with doeskin pants. A simple white, cotton shift lay on the end of the bed. And books slumped against one another along the back edge of a sturdy writing desk covered in papers.

As Regina stood, taking it all in and deciding how to translate what she saw into her act, Snow White watched her.

"Does it feel strange to be back?" she asked.

"A little," Regina answered, half-honestly.

Being in this bedroom beside her step-sister did dredge up old memories from when they'd lived together as girls. Regina and Snow had never been friends per say, but they hadn't always been enemies.

Regina had been ten and Snow seven when Queen Eva died.

At the time, Regina and her mother had been living as commoners, a simple peasant's life which Regina remembered her mother railing against at every opportunity. She'd always wanted more, both for herself and for her daughter, and she had been willing to do anything in order to get it. Regina still didn't know exactly what deal her mother had struck to learn how to spin straw into gold, but it had gotten her into the castle, and once there — through either trickery, seduction, magic, or all of the above — Cora worked her way into the king's heart.

When they married, Regina hadn't known how to be a princess. At eleven, she'd been much more interested in learning to ride the palace horses and watching from the hayloft as the stable boys worked. It was young Snow who had taken it upon herself to teach Regina what it meant to be royal.

They'd tolerated one another, mostly choosing to stay out of each other's way, up until the king's death.

After that, Cora began her campaign against the girl, culminating in Snow's banishment at seventeen.

Through some kind of miracle, she'd found her way to being queen anyway, albeit queen of a different kingdom.

Good things always landed in Snow White's lap like that.

Not like Regina, whose life story had been written in blood and tears. Her place on the throne had been  _earned._ Fought for.

Snow's had been given.

And she didn't deserve it.

"You can tell me, you know," Snow said. "Whenever you're ready. I know that you've been through something traumatic. Something horrible. And it's going to be hard to open up about it. But I promise, you'll feel better once you do."

"How do you know that?" Regina asked.

Snow gave her a sad smile. "My life hasn't always been as good as it is now. Bad things happen, even to good people. Whatever happened to you on that ship wasn't your fault. And I'll be here to help you work through it, whenever you decide that you need someone to talk to."

The woman looked close to tears.

Thankfully, David chose that moment to burst in through the door with a heaping tray of food. Regina thanked him as he set it on the end of the bed, then breathed a huge sigh of relief when Snow announced that they should leave her for the moment to give her time to settle in and rest.

Alone, Regina tossed off her jacket and loosened the laces on her annoyingly tight pants. The meal David had brought her proved adequate — not of the caliber she'd have expected at home, but respectable.

When she finished eating, she brushed off her hands and untied the leather pouch from her waist. The navy captain's glowing heart throbbed within. She reached inside to retrieve it and rolled it once across the palm of her hand. He had already returned to the ship, she saw, and was strutting like a peacock, fresh medals of valor glinting on his chest. Having no more use for him, Regina gave the heart a sharp squeeze.

It shuddered in her hand, beating erratically.

Hot, wild terror spiked through him, bleeding through into Regina who greeted it with a shiver and a smile.

"Finally getting what you want, dearie?"

Her hand went lax at the voice.

Dropping the heart on the bed, she looked up at Rumpelstiltskin who stood leaning with one shoulder against the edge of the casement, his green skin glittering and his lips pulled back in a reptilian smirk.

"I always get what I want," she replied with a toss of her head.

He walked over to her, the scent of magic thick about him. "I thought we had an agreement."

"We did. I kept my part."

"No. You see, if you'd kept your part, I wouldn't be here. Would I?"

"Are you implying that it's  _my_  fault Emma got away? Please. I pulled this whole plan back together after that insufferable pirate got in the way. I don't recall seeing you lift a finger."

"Afraid I was rather busy with the ogres."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Which didn't end up doing me any good after all. You were supposed to deliver Emma to me, and I ended up having to take care of it myself. So whatever you think I owe you, you're mistaken."

Rumple flexed his fingers, as if imagining them around her neck. "What you  _owe_  me is a princess. Do you think I don't know about the man you sent to slay her?"

"Then go get her. What's stopping you?"

"I can't 'get her' if I don't know where she is."

"With the pirate, of course. I'm sure they'll turn up eventually. He usually does."

"It won't do me any good if she makes it back to the castle."

Regina laughed. "Then you should be out there watching for her, rather than in here bothering me." She waved him away with an imperious flick of her fingers.

"Don't forget," he snarled, "you need me. I didn't have to agree to turn Emma toward your kingdom in the first place. I could have kept her for myself. And I can still pull the rug out from underneath this entire plot of yours. I created that curse you're working on, dearie. Don't antagonize me."

As much as it irked her to admit, he was right. She needed his cooperation for a while longer, at least until she had everything she needed. The bitter turn of her lips was enough to illicit a pleased, predatory grin from the Dark One, acknowledgement that the status quo between them had not yet changed.

He tucked a finger underneath her chin, tilting her face up towards him.

"Princess is a good look on you," he said with a titter. "Perhaps if I can't have the real thing…"

With a puff of smoke, he vanished, leaving Regina in a roiling temper.

She growled, snatched up the heart off the bed, and squeezed, clutching at what remained long after it had turned into dust.

* * *

The  _Jolly Roger_  sailed into the harbor of the pirate city in late afternoon. While the crew set about weighing anchor, pulling in the sails, and securing the ship, Emma and Killian retreated to the captain's quarters — him, to tend to business, and her to retrieve her jacket and cutlass.

"We'll stock up while we're here," Killian said as he leafed through a ledger lying open on his desk. "We've enough supplies to make it to your kingdom on what remains in the holds, but it would be nothing but hardtack for the last three days. I'm afraid the men might revolt."

Emma shuddered and sheathed her sword. "Three days of hardtack?  _I_  might revolt."

He smiled. "We certainly can't have that."

"To tell you the truth," Emma said as he turned back to his ledger, "I'm dying for a hot meal. I'm almost as sick of fish, limes, old biscuits, and rum as I am of hardtack."

"Sick of rum?" He laughed, then added, "We're all tired of ship's fare, love. It would be my honor to treat you to a hearty repast."

_Dinner? Just the two of them?_

"You mean, like…a date?"

"I…" He cleared his throat. "Not exactly. At least, not tonight. I'm afraid I have other business to attend to."

"Business?"

He tapped the ledger. "Resupplying the ship. But I will have Ed and Smee escort you to one of the local taverns."

Disappointment weighed heavy in the pit of her stomach. Annoyed at her own reaction, at how high her hopes hot shot at the idea of spending an evening with him over a warm meal like normal people, she crossed her arms and took a step away from him.

"I don't need a babysitter. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"I don't doubt that. Ed and Smee will not be going along to keep an eye on  _you_. They're going to keep an eye on everyone else."

She shook her head. "I thought you said we'd be safe here."

"Aye. Safe from the navy." He closed his ledger and turned to face her directly. "There is honor amongst thieves, but it only extends so far. And you are quite the valuable catch, darling."

"Is that what I am to you?" she asked, still irked. "Loot?"

"You are a member of my crew."

_Oh_ , she thought sourly. _Is that all?_

Perhaps sensing her irritation at his response, he stuck out his arm and sent her an innocent smile that begged forgiveness, the expression only slightly hindered by his rakish five o'clock shadow and the conspicuous hickey that had not yet faded from the side of his neck. With a sigh and a grumble, she rolled her eyes and linked her arm through his. He tucked her close, the warmth of his body and the leather scent of his coat enough to soothe away the last of her anger, and then guided her toward the door and up onto the ship's deck.

The crew stood gathered, looking like a group of children waiting to be dismissed by their teacher. Before allowing them to depart, Killian gave each man a share of gold coins — their take of the ship's recent plunders. Ed and Smee he held back from the rest, who wasted no time vanishing off into the city the moment gold touched their palms.

"Need something, Captain?" Ed asked.

"Aye. I'd like the two of you to stay with Emma for the afternoon." He handed Ed an extra couple of coins. "And get her something to eat."

The two men sagged, Smee more-so than Ed who, with his military training, was more adept at concealing his feelings when receiving disagreeable orders. Emma felt a flash of pity for the two. Much as she liked Ed, and he her, she knew that after gods-knew-how-many weeks at sea, he'd much rather spend his shore leave carousing with his friends than keeping an eye on her.

When Killian turned back to her, she gestured at the coin pouch still in his hand, eager to change the subject. "Seeing as I'm supposedly part of the crew, shouldn't I get a share, too?"

A faint flash of pride crossed his face. "Quite right."

He laid several pieces of gold into her outstretched hand, his fingertips brushing across hers, sending a trail of gooseflesh up her arm. Gods, she didn't want to spend the afternoon away from him. But she shoved the coins into her pocket anyway and, fighting the urge to cast lingering glances over her shoulder, followed Ed and Smee off the ship.

Rather than a dark, dirty den of disorder she'd imagined, she found herself on a pretty green isle with a striking blue-green lagoon. She could see all the way to the seabed, where brightly colored fish darted in between the hulking mass of the ship. On their way into the city, they walked down well-maintained cobblestone streets lined with flowering fruit trees and shops that would not have looked out of place in her own capital city. Granted, the number of liquor and weapons stores — complete with signs out front advertising an astonishing variety of deadly wares within — gave away the proclivity of the local demographic, but the sweet scent of warm earth and cooking spices was enough to override any alarm she might have felt.

When Emma commented on the city's calm atmosphere, Ed explained the orderliness away with an idiom about birds not fouling their own nest. But Emma thought it more likely the effect of an iron-fisted dictatorship — the island just another ship, run by its own captain with the same mix of charm and intimidation she'd seen Killian use on board the  _Jolly Roger_.

Up ahead, she spotted a clothing store.

Smee swore under his breath when she drew to a stop in front of it.

_Let him suffer_ , she thought uncharitably as she went inside. She'd been wearing the same set of clothes non-stop, and while that appeared to be par for the course on the pirate ship, she needed a change.

Most of the clothing inside was for men, but she found a small collection of dresses toward the back. She browsed through them with growing dismay — calling these scraps of cloth  _dresses_  was just being polite. She picked one up that didn't look too objectionable on the hanger and held it up against her body. The neck line fell somewhere halfway down her breasts. Downright modest in comparison to the rest.

"Looking for something in particular?" someone asked.

She turned to see the shopkeeper standing behind her. Ed and Smee lurked just inside the door, watching the exchange.

Emma shrugged. "Yeah. Pants. Boots. That sort of thing."

He looked her up and down, measuring her with his eyes.

"I have a few items that I could tailor to fit you," he said after some thought.

Emma left the shop a half hour later with a shirt, new cotton underthings, a white shift, and a ticket to retrieve a pair of pants and a new jacket in the morning once he'd completed all the required alterations.

Ed and Smee hurried her along up the street to the tavern, clearly hoping to avoid any other detours. They walked into a sleepy looking establishment that had a large painted sign of a deer hanging over the door —  _The Golden Hind_.

Only a little light filtered in through the small windows facing the road, so several dozen oil lamps burned in sconces along the walls. Through the murk, Emma spotted a few other members of the  _Jolly Roger_ 's crew crowded around a table in the back, already tipping back huge flagons of ale.

Rather than join them, Ed, Emma, and Smee bellied up to the bar.

The two ordered drinks for themselves while Emma, mouth watering with anticipation, asked for a plate of roast chicken, potatoes, and bread with butter. It arrived smothered in gravy, most of which she sopped up with the bread. Every bite left her groaning in delight. When she cleaned her plate, the bartender brought her a hefty wedge of warm, flaky pie to chase it all down, the dollop of thick cream on top just beginning to melt

"Ahh, gods." She sighed and rubbed her belly. "That was good."

"Is there anything else you desire?" Ed asked, his tone teasing but sharp.

"The only thing that could possibly improve on that meal would be a hot bath," she said.

Ed shrugged. "You've more than enough money left if you really want one."

Emma stared at him, not sure if he was joking. "I…what?"

Apparently, the tavern doubled as an inn. ( _For whom?_  Emma wondered. Surely a pirate island didn't get many tourists.) Smee negotiated a price with the bartender and, following a quick exchange of coins, Emma followed a matronly woman up the stairs to one of the rooms above. Small and bare, it contained nothing but a polished basin, several square bars of yellow soap, and a threadbare stack of towels.

Once the bath had been filled, one steaming bucket a time, Emma shut the door and quickly undressed.

Her calves quivered as she climbed into the hot water, sinking in up to her breasts. The warmth forced out a languid sigh. Utterly content, she laid her head back against the edge of the tub, closed her eyes, and stayed that way, suspended in bliss, until the water grew cool. Only then did she set about washing her hair and body, scrubbing away a thick layer of accumulated dirt and brine. With a shiver, she got out, dried off with one of the ragged towels, and redressed.

Downstairs, she discovered Killian sitting in her place at the bar beside Ed and Smee. He had his back half turned to her, and over the noise of the drunken sailors at a nearby table, she couldn't make out what he was saying. A young barmaid with a voluminous mane of glossy, dark curls leaned over the bar in front of him, her ample bosom pressed mere inches away from his glass.

"Done with your business?" Emma asked, her voice clipped, as she strode up behind him.

Killian swung around to face her, but his carefully schooled expression told her nothing about what had been going on between him and the barmaid.

"Apologies, love," he said, motioning to Ed and Smee, the both of them shamefaced. "They were not to leave you unattended."

She propped a hand on her hip and whisked back a wet strand of hair with the other. "You'd rather they'd come along and watched me bathe?"

His gaze raked up and down her body, taking her measure just as the shopkeeper had, but to an entirely different effect. The way his blue eyes lingered on the hard line of her mouth and the gentle curve of her hip, it might as well have been a real, physical caress. She certainly felt it as such. Her stomach tightened and warmth gathered in her core, lighting her up inside from her heart all the way down to her legs.

"I'd rather you'd waited for a proper chaperone," he replied with a smirk.

Emma opened her mouth to respond with a cutting remark, something to put him in his place, but realized that she didn't have the heart for it. She didn't  _want_  to shut him down. His familiar, shameless flirting no longer struck her as entirely objectionable. Without saying a word, she pulled out the barstool next to him and sat down. Ed and Smee took this as their cue to leave and promptly excused themselves. Alone with her, Killian tipped his glass to his lips and finished off his drink.

"How long are we going to be staying here?" she asked.

"A few days. Long enough for your message to get out ahead of us and for the men to sow their oats."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Is that what you normally do when you're here?  _Sow your oats_?"

He didn't meet her gaze. "I hardly see that it matters."

In other words… _Yes._

Her stomach turned at the thought of him stopping on this island and having his way with whatever barmaid would have him. The intensity of her reaction caught her off guard. It wasn't like she'd thought he'd been sailing the seas in a state of celibate sainthood before she'd met him. He was a pirate, for gods sake, and he'd never hidden the implications of that from her. Never tried to convince her that he was anything other than a rascal.

But knowing what that meant and  _seeing_  it were two entirely different things. Her fingers gripped hard at the edge of the bar and her heart thumped loud in her ears.

A shout from behind them startled her.

Skylights stood at a crowded table at the back of the bar, all ruddy-cheeked and over enthusiastic, waving them over.

They walked over to the rowdy bunch. Emma took the seat next to Turley, tucking herself in between his side and the wall. Killian sat down across from her, the two men safely boxing her in. With the bar beginning to fill, shadows deepening out the small windows, she felt safer surrounded by his crew — the enemy she knew — than out amongst the rabble.

She sipped at a single glass of whisky, careful to make it last. She didn't know how much Killian drank, but he appeared as unaffected as always. Whenever she thought he wouldn't notice, she watched him, noting the way that his eyes crinkled when he smiled and his chest heaved underneath his shirt when he laughed.

When she caught him observing her as well, their eyes caught and her breath hitched.

Underneath the table, his foot brushed against hers, a touch that could have been accidental had he not been looking at her with such smoldering intensity.

She got lost in his gaze, in the naked  _wanting_  there, until Turley bumped her arm.

"Foggerty! You dog!" Turley hooted and pumped one arm in the air.

At the end of the table, Foggerty had a pretty barmaid by the arm. All the men laughed and cheered as he pulled the woman into his lap and stuffed a large, gold coin down the front of her dress, sliding it into her cleavage. She smiled indulgently and encouraged him to finish off the last of his drink before taking him by the hand and helping him up out of his seat. They crossed the bar together to the riotous guffaws of the crew and awkwardly mounted the stairs, her dragging him along while he groped drunkenly at her rear, managing to work her dress all the way up to expose the garters on her thighs before they vanished around a corner at the top of the stairs.

Looking around the bar now, Emma noticed the dozen other women there, working the room.

This tavern didn't double as an  _inn_ , she realized with a sharp glare at Ed. It was a  _brothel._

Embarrassed that she hadn't figured out on her own that this was exactly the kind of place a pirate crew would spend their shore leave, she emptied her glass in one gulp and slapped it back down on the table with a loud thump. Had Killian taken part in this before? The wooing, cajoling, and exchange of money as he climbed the stairs, eager to bed some stranger and then be on his way?

The dark tavern and her place squeezed between Turley's shoulder and the wooden wall struck her as suddenly claustrophobic. She couldn't breathe, couldn't focus. She needed to get out.

When she stood up from the table, Killian did, too.

"I'm…" She fumbled for an explanation that would convince him to leave her be. "I'm tired."

"I can get you a room," he offered.

"No!" The thought of sleeping in one of the beds upstairs made her feel sick. "I'll head back to the ship."

Without a second thought, Killian pushed his chair in. "Then I will walk you there."

A few of the men sitting nearby sniggered into their mugs.

"I'll be fine on my own," she insisted and shoved her chair in with her foot.

"Most likely," he agreed. "But I'd like to make certain."

When she shouldered open the tavern door and strode out into the cool, salty night, she heard his footsteps trailing after her. As he jogged to catch up with her, his coat flared out behind him.

"You're angry," he said.

"I'm just tired."

"I'm not looking for you to admit it, love. Just making an observation. You're something of an open book at the moment."

"Am I?"

"You've been with us long enough now that the crew sometimes forgets you're a lady. I'll have a discussion with them in the morning regarding their conduct."

"I wasn't offended by Foggerty's conduct," she snapped. "I don't care who he sleeps with or whether he paid for it."

Brows drawn, he followed her for several blocks in silence while she tried her damnedest to keep what she was thinking from showing on her face, just in case he really could  _read her like an open book_. The whole idea of her innermost thoughts laid bare to him made her want to curl up into a ball, especially since at the moment her whole being was torn between wanting nothing more to do with him — revoking every ounce of trust he'd wrung from her — and the desire to grab him by the collar, shove him into the nearest wall, and kiss him until he swore to never think of another woman for the rest of his days.

They passed a few bars that appeared a lot rougher than  _The Golden Hind_ , shouts and curses and the characteristic slap of fist fights echoing from within. Killian moved closer to her side, his hand on the hilt of his sword, every time they came within a dozen paces of another person.

Once she saw the  _Jolly Roger_  bobbing dark and lonely along the wharf up ahead, Emma picked up her pace.

"A room at the inn would be a lot more comfortable," Killian tried again as they climbed up onto the ship's deck.

"I'm  _not_  staying there," Emma repeated.

"Why?"

She wheeled around to face him, able to do so now that she was back in familiar territory, on what she considered to be level ground between the two of them. "I am not going to sleep in the same bed that you and every other man within a hundred leagues of here have taken whores in every night."

Her words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"I'd rather sleep on the floor," she finished, then turned on her heel to rip open the door to the captain's quarters.

Killian stormed down the ladder after her.

"You presume I haven't  _taken a whore_  here as well?" he demanded.

Something inside of her snapped. Her hand formed a fist and she swung hard, aiming for his jaw. Her knuckles impacted his hand, which shot up to catch her blow. For a fleeting moment as the impact rang up her arm, she thought she'd truly connected with his infuriatingly handsome face. When she realized that he'd deflected her punch, a confused mix of frustration and relief surged through her.

His fingers wrapped tight around hers, and he tugged her in close.

"What's the problem, Princess?" he sneered.

With her free hand, she grabbed the lapel of his coat, not sure what she meant to do with it, only knowing that she needed to have some leverage over him as well.

"No problem," she said, glaring up at him.

"You haven't tried to take my head off like that since you first came aboard."

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I guess it took seeing you off this ship to remind me what you really are."

"And what's that?"

"A pirate."

It stung. She saw pain flicker across his expression before an equally intense wave of anger took its place.

"Is that so? You've known exactly what I am from the moment we met,  _darling_." He spat out the endearment in a way that sounded poisonous. "It didn't seem to bother you yesterday. Or the day before."

She blushed and glanced at the love bite just inside of his collar. "I know this persona you show me. The heart-broken brother. The pirate who wants to be a hero. But there's another side of you. The villain. I forgot what that meant and the kind of life you've been living until we got here and I finally saw evidence of it."

"Evidence?" His eyebrows shot up and he leaned in uncomfortably close. "Pray tell, what evidence of my villainy have you seen, m'lady?"

"If I hadn't been there, you and your men would have sacked that merchant ship we stopped. You ran it down like it was nothing. The money that paid for my meal, for Foggerty's night in the sheets, probably came from one of  _my_  ships. Stolen at sword point. You're so worried that one of your fellow 'honorable' pirates here will snatch me from the street because I might be worth something, but what difference would it make to  _me_  if someone did? What is trading one pirate for another? What makes you and your crew so damn special?"

"Because I am not interested in having you on your back before I ransom you," he snapped.

"Aren't you?"

"Not against your will," he replied. "All this can't possibly be hitting you just now. What's this about? You  _know_  me better than this."

"Not half as well as the average barmaid," she growled.

His head tilted and his grip on her hand softened. "Is that it, then? Not the piracy bothering you, but my past conquests?"

"The fact that you refer to them as  _conquests_  only reinforces my point."

"Dalliances, then."

"Not much better. And no matter what you want to call them, I'm not going to be one."

She tried to pull her hand free, but he tugged her even closer still.

" _You're not_."

"I don't believe you."

The blue of his eyes appeared crystalline in the silvery moonlight coming in through the windows. For a drawn out, breathless moment, he studied her,  _reading_  her, before his free hand came up to gently push a strand of hair away from her neck. The leather of his coat creaked as her fingers tightened their grip, pulling him closer despite wanting to push him away.

"There have been fewer women than you imagine, Emma," he said slowly. "Do you not have men in your past?"

"Of course. But I didn't  _pay_  any of them."

"Nor did I."

Of course he hadn't. A man as charming and handsome as Killian Jones would never need to pay for sex. The lovely, buxom barmaid had made it clear enough that he'd have gotten all the attention he desired free of charge.

"This isn't about who you have or haven't slept with," she insisted.

"Isn't it?"

Her thumb moved across the buttery leather of his lapel.

Maybe it  _was_  about who he'd slept with, but only in part. Seeing him in a new context had reminded her not only of his nature but her own as well.

"You keep reminding me of how much I'm worth," she said. "Is that what appeals to you? What makes you treat me differently than those girls back in the bar? That I'm not just a woman, but a trophy as well?"

He shook his head, all of his anger forgotten. "I don't want you  _because_  you're a princess. I want you  _in spite_  of it."

She couldn't look at him. Couldn't even begin to put together a response. At her silence, he dipped his head, eyes hooded as his nose brushed across her temple.

"Emma?"

Her hand relaxed, slowly releasing him. "I'm tired," she said. "I just…I need to get some sleep." She backed away from him, the distance between them cold and tense. "You don't have to stay."

Cheeks flushed, body wound tight, Killian forced an uneasy smile. "As you wish."

Then, he was gone, up the ladder and out the door which banged shut behind him.

Emma strained to hear his steps, to see if he left the ship to go back to his friends and the the comforting arms of the pretty wench at  _The Golden Hind_ , but she couldn't make out anything over the raging of her heart.

_Damn it._

She wanted him to turn around. Wanted him to come back and do everything in his power to convince her that he wasn't the scoundrel she thought. Or kiss her until she didn't care. But the door remained closed, the ship silent. Hands clenched, stomach doing flip-flops, she considered going after him herself but reined in the impulse until she figured he was long gone.

_It's for the best_ , she told herself.

But as she sat down on the edge of his bed, her fingers digging into the mattress, the smell of him everywhere around her, all of the logical arguments in the world as to why she shouldn't let the pirate captain anywhere near her couldn't erase the fact that  _near her_  was the one and only place she wanted him to be.


	9. Which Concerns Matters of the Heart

If there be Love in mortals—this was Love!  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 9: Which Concerns Matters of the Heart

Killian spent the night on the ship's deck, dozing intermittently whenever the steady lapping of waves against the hull lulled him into closing his eyes. He never slept long before the creak of a plank or an errant noise from the docks woke him and had him reaching for his sword. By daybreak his back and neck ached and his eyes stung like they had been blasted with sand. He stood gripping the ship's wheel to keep himself from swaying with exhaustion when Mullins walked up, a bag clutched in one hand.

"Captain! I'm glad you're up!" Mullins said with a brazen grin. "Was afraid I'd wake you. Figured you had a late night and all…"

"What do you want?" Killian snapped, in no mood.

Mullins held up the bag. "The lady left this behind at the tavern."

With a nod, Killian took the bag and held it awkwardly at his side.

"The men are still sleeping it off," Mullins continued, smartly ignoring his captain's own bleary attempts to shake off the effects of the previous night. Mullins — who could consume an astonishing amount of liquor without showing any ill effects — looked as bright-eyed as ever. "I'll round up Ed in a bit and we'll drag enough of 'em back here to get the ship restocked this afternoon."

"Excellent. Thank you."

With a salute, Mullins left, leaving Killian with nothing to do but steel himself for the inevitable confrontation waiting down below. Emma's bag was heavy in his hand as he knocked on the cabin door. An interminable stretch of silence met him before Emma's voice finally announced that he could enter.

To his satisfaction, she didn't appear to have gotten much more sleep than he had. Her hair stuck up in disarray despite her hands smoothing self-consciously over it, and she had a pale, sick look that mirrored exactly how he felt.

When he reached the bottom of the ladder, she lifted both eyebrows expectantly, as if to say,  _What do_ **you** _want?_

"Don't worry, love," he said, hand up in supplication. "I haven't come to continue our conversation from last night. I'm merely here to deliver your things." He held out her bag. "You left it at  _The Golden Hind._ "

Her green eyes flashed with surprise.

"I…thank you. I didn't realize." She took it from him, then focused all of her attention on shuffling through its contents. The tension in the room was unsettling in a way it had never been before. Killian had always noticed a certain magnetic force between them, alternating between push and pull, but always heated and full of desire. This was cold. Uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat, bringing her attention back up to his face.

"If you need to go into the city for anything today, ask one of my officers to go with you. The ship is being restocked, so there is sure to be someone about."

She set her bag down on the bed. "You're going to be busy again?"

"Aye."

As it happened, he had a rather urgent appointment with a bunk in the crew's quarters.

Her eyebrows drew together, something like disappointment flickering across her face. Had he not been so tired, he might have pursued it and attempted to suss out whether it really was some revelation regarding his piracy that had spurred her to push him away or simple jealousy. But he didn't have the energy to engage with her. Not on the level he knew he'd have to in order to draw out the truth.

Before she could say anything, he excused himself.

Back on deck, he paced and ran his hand over his stubble, both afraid and hopeful that she might follow him. She didn't. And a few minutes later, the first of his crew trickled in, still haggard and red-eyed, not quite yet sober. He set them to work in the cargo holds, aware they'd get little done until Ed and Mullins arrived to crack the proverbial whip over their backs. He didn't care whether they spent the day playing dice - their mere presence meant that he could rest easy knowing that Emma was in good company.

Stumbling, he walked to the crew's quarters, collapsed onto what had once been Bill Juke's bunk, and closed his eyes. Powerless to fight anymore, he fell into a deep, dark sleep.

* * *

Emma napped fitfully until the noise from the men restocking the cargo holds made it impossible for her to sleep anymore. She fought back agitation as she dressed, grumpy thanks to a long and restless night and Killian's unexpected behavior that morning. She'd thought he would try to hash things out with her — had been relying on it, in fact, so that she wouldn't have to be the one to approach  _him_. Instead, he'd handed over the bag she'd forgotten at the tavern and left.

 _I guess that settles the mystery of where he went last night_ , she thought bitterly as she tugged on her boots. She'd figured as much, but having confirmation that he'd returned to the tavern hurt.

She paused to take a deep breath, the filling of her lungs helping her to visualize the force with which she compressed all of her anger and distress. As the stoic mask of calm she'd learned to wear as a princess slipped into place, she climbed the ladder to the ship's main deck.

Men bustled everywhere, rolling barrels and hauling crates.

It took her a few minutes to find Ed in the throng.

"Morning, m'lady." He flashed her a grin. "I trust you had a good night?"

"Fine," she replied. "Listen…I hate to ask you again, but the captain insisted that someone go with me if I needed to leave the ship, and I've got some things I need to pick up in town today."

He eyed her for a second before nodding. "Okay. Give me a second."

Emma waited on the forecastle deck while he wrapped up his work. Trying to look casual, she walked slowly along the gentle curve of the ship's railing, trailing her hand across the smooth wood. Hard to believe this ship had once been a proud navy vessel, the  _Jewel of the Realm_. Had it ever sailed into battle in defense of its kingdom? Had its supernatural speed and agility been used to beat back the enemy, to win wars, and save lives?

Now every last inch of the ship was devoted to two entirely less noble pursuits: vengeance and plunder.

Just like its captain.

"Ready to go?" Ed interrupted her thoughts.

They walked into town together, Emma silent while Ed unobtrusively allowed her to brood.

Emma stopped first to pick up her newly tailored clothes, then asked Ed if there was somewhere she could eat aside from  _The Golden Hind._

"Why?" he asked. "I thought you enjoyed their food."

"I did. But…" She shrugged. "I'd like to try something different."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

He took her deeper into the city. Much as Killian had done the night before, Ed lingered close to her, his hand ready at his sword every time anyone so much as glanced in their direction. At length, he brought her to another tavern, this one staffed by a heavy set man and his matronly wife, who Emma heard loudly berating him when they opened the door. The woman, her graying hair pulled back into a severe bun, her eyes cloudy and pinched at the edges, turned on what little charm she possessed when Emma and Ed stepped inside.

Emma bought lunch for both of them, then had more packed up to take back to the  _Jolly Roger_.

"You're staying on the ship the rest of the day?" Ed said.

"That's the plan. The captain won't let me leave without an escort, and I don't want to ruin your evening again."

Ed cleared his throat. "Sorry to be so forward, m'lady. But when exactly did he go back to being  _the captain_  to you? You two have looked mighty cozy lately."

Emma pinned him with a hard look. "That's none of your business."

"You're right," he said without any hint of apology. "But I've known Killian since he was a pup, m'lady. I try to watch out for him when I can. And he's awful taken with you. We've all noticed. Though the rest of the crew won't say anything. Honestly, we thought perhaps you were taken with him, too…you know... _considering_." He gestured vaguely toward his neck.

A blush warmed Emma's cheeks.

"I am  _not_  having this conversation with you."

"Then who are you going to have it with?"

"No one."

He rolled his eyes. "Come now. It's clear as day you two had some kind of row and it's bothering you."

"If you want to hear about it, why don't you ask  _the captain_?" she said.

"Because I haven't seen him. Not since he left the tavern with you last night."

"He didn't come back to  _The Golden Hind_  later?"

Ed shook his head. "I assumed he was with you."

Ignoring the implication that the whole crew believed Killian had, quite literally,  _spent the night_  with her, Emma turned this new information over in her mind. She'd assumed he'd gone back to the tavern after he'd left, and had thought it confirmed when he returned her bag that morning. But if he hadn't…then where  _had_  he spent the night? Not with the barmaid. But that didn't necessarily mean he hadn't found some other warm bed she reminded herself, doing her best to suppress the pesky desire to trust him, draw closer, and let him in.

Once they finished eating, Ed took her back to the ship.

"I know you don't want my opinion, but I'm gonna give it to you anyway," he said as they approached the wharf. "Whatever he did that got you up in arms, give him a chance to fix it. I know we're a bunch of pirates an' all, but he's got a good heart. This life and his grief have taken him to some dark places, this island bein' one of 'em, but that can change." He smiled. "I know you've reminded  _this_  old sea dog that there's some bright and shiny places out there, too."

He clapped her affectionately on the back.

With a thank you to Ed, Emma retired to the captain's cabin and busied herself with trying on her new clothes and reading a book until her stomach began to grumble. She sat down alone to dinner at the little table. The empty chair adjacent to her caused her to think of all the meals she'd shared with Killian there — from the antagonistic ones when they'd both been hell-bent on outwitting the other to the friendlier ones when she'd quietly relished the taste of him on the lip of the flask they shared.

 _Damn it_. Was she actually  _yearning_  for him?

It hadn't even been a full day since she'd last seen him for gods' sakes.

How had it gotten this bad this fast?

Frustrated with herself, with the whole situation, she packed up her half-eaten dinner and changed into the white shift she'd purchased before climbing up on top of Killian's bed to open one of the cabin windows. Outside, a humid, cloying evening had fallen. It'd be another long night.

 _Soon you'll be home and can put all of this behind you_ , she told herself.

The thought was not half as reassuring as she'd hoped.

* * *

Killian wasn't avoiding Emma per say, but his schedule made it incredibly easy to never run into her. He spent most of his daylight hours dozing or tending to whatever business he needed to as captain and his nights standing guard over her door. The first two days the  _Jolly Roger_  spent docked at the pirate city, he saw only glimpses of her in passing. Every time, it filled him with longing.

On the third night, he sat leaning against the mast, his coat slung off in the tropical warmth of the night and lying beside him. The smell of rain colored the air, a thunderstorm flickering out over the sea.

Drawing up his knees, Killian laid his sword across them and looked past it to his cabin door.

He tried not to think about her during the day. For the most part, he succeeded. He had plenty to take up his time, from breaking up drunken brawls between crew members, to equipping the ship to head out to sea once again, getting the hull repaired, and replacing all of the sails torn by the sirens. He had more than enough to occupy his thoughts. During the night, however, there was nothing but her.

Perhaps, he thought, he should try talking to her again.

He could sit her down and explain… _what_?

Lie and say that he wasn't the man she thought?

She wasn't wrong to assume that he'd stolen, or hurt people, or slept with women and then discarded them without a second thought. He didn't want her for her title, or as a prize, or for some more nefarious purpose but could offer nothing more than his word as reassurance. For a while, he'd thought that might be enough. He'd imagined she saw him for the man he truly was — a man of honor. Now he realized, for better or worse, that man was long gone.

He sighed.

The steady rocking of the ship soothed him, allowed his mind to drift, until a sound on the dock snapped him back to attention. Bolting upright, sword in hand, he strained to catch it again, not sure what he had heard.

_There._

Footsteps.

He froze, waiting to see if the person would pass by, but the steps continued toward the  _Jolly Roger_ , their cadence somehow off, as if the person walked with a limp. The shuffling stopped just short of the ship, an eerie pause during which Killian held his breath and wondered if the man might be some poor drunken fool unable to recognize his own ship in the dark.

 _Move along_ , he willed the unwelcome interloper.  _I don't want to kill you_.

The man's uneven gait began to approach once again.

Killian snuck across the deck and took cover behind a pile of lumber destined for the aft hull. Crouched, heart slamming against his ribs, he peered around the planks, able to see the door to his cabin on his right and the gangway on his left. A trickle of sweat tracked down the side of his neck. Lightning stretched menacing shadows before him.

The man appeared at the top of the gangway, hobbling along as quietly as his infirmity allowed. Recognition made Killian's sword arm relax.

 _Starkey_.

Bloody hell. The dumb sod had just about gotten himself run through.

Starkey paused and glanced about before crossing onto the ship's deck, keeping his body low and his steps light, obviously hoping not to disturb anyone.

Killian stood and strode out from behind his cover.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Emma. "Why aren't you out carousing with the rest of the crew?" His sudden appearance nearly startled Starkey into dropping the dagger he perpetually held clutched in his right hand.

"Captain?" Starkey fell back a step, dark eyes darting back and forth as Killian aggressively invaded his space.

"Did the tavern kick you out?" he asked, recalling the numerous times Starkey had been ejected and downright banished from establishments in the past. "Or some wench from her bed, perhaps?"

At that, Starkey met his gaze, the expression on the haggard pirate's face shockingly defiant. "Same as yer little wench, I take it?" he sneered.

Taken aback, Killian stood with his mouth agape, at a loss for words.

"Her Royal Highness too good fer ya after all, Cap'n? Damn shame. What with the way she turned ya meek as a kitten. An' all fer nothing. Ain't none of the men respect you no more. We all know you've gone soft."

"Now see here—" Killian started, furious, but Starkey interrupted him.

"Nice ta know that I won't be deliverin' damaged goods though," he said, a cruel smirk making his eyes glimmer. "Not that Blackbeard cares."

Realization washed over Killian at the exact same moment that Starkey raised his arm, slashing a quick arc with his dagger. The edge of his blade whistled hot and deadly past Killian's face as he ducked out of the way, unscathed thanks to good fortune and quick reflexes.

On instinct, his own arm came up to counter. His swing was sloppy — aimed blindly, loose in the wrist, without any of his weight behind it. Starkey parried it easily, then let out a high pitched whistle.

Feet pounded across the docks toward the  _Jolly Roger_.

Killian balled up his left hand into a fist and struck Starkey hard across the face, knocking the man back into the ship's railing. With his right, he held out his sword toward the advancing horde — Blackbeard's men, come to collect the princess for their captain.

Five of them ran up onto the deck, not as many as Killian had feared but more than enough to outmatch him.

"Is this a trap?" the biggest of the group asked with an uncertain glance at Starkey. "You said he'd be busy. Not lying in wait. You sure the rest of the crew ain't here?"

"Trust me." Starkey wiped a hand across his mouth, leaving a smear of blood on his cheek. "It's just him and the girl."

Driven by the heady insanity of pure wrath, Killian dove straight into their ranks, not waiting for them to make the first move.

He fought like a man possessed, sword finding purchase in cloth and flesh alike. Two, even three, he might have managed, parrying one and then deftly swinging around to jab at another, but five proved difficult to keep track of. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one dart toward the cabin door, and when he turned to follow, an unexpected punch sent him sprawling.

Stars exploded across his vision.

The taste of blood warmed his mouth, salty and metallic.

One of the pirates lunged at him. Killian rolled and the man's sword splintered the planks where he'd been lying a mere heartbeat before. He scrambled back to his feet, meaning to take down the man going for Emma no matter the cost, but someone hit him again. His head spun as he landed on his hands and knees.

This time, he didn't move away quickly enough and his arm caught the edge of his attacker's swing.

The blade sliced across his bicep, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Red blood splattered the deck beneath him.

He cast one last, desperate glance toward his cabin and saw, as if in slow motion, the pirate reach for the handle.

To his amazement, the door flew open, knocking the man back.

Emma emerged, a vision in a knee length white shift, her hair spilling wild and loose over her shoulders, and Liam's cutlass clutched with lethal surety in her hand — the angel of death personified.

Not to mention the most godsamned beautiful thing Killian had ever seen.

She shouted something, her voice drowned out by the ringing in his ears, and ran barefoot across the deck toward him. With a clang, she threw back the sword plunging toward his heart, giving him the time he needed to get back to his feet. Equilibrium remained elusive, leaving him unsteady as she turned and pressed her back against his. Even so, they swung around together as one, managing to throw back every attack.

" _You're_  the princess?" Killian heard one of the men cry out over the clash of metal.

"Surprised?" Emma said.

At least one of the pirates turned and fled.

Killian tossed another overboard. Emma must have taken care of the rest, because one moment he was moving in harmony with her, fighting for their lives, and the next he found them alone on the  _Jolly Roger's_ deck, adrenaline soaked, chests heaving, still pressed tight to one another.

Swearing, Killian stepped away from her to run over to the ship's side and scan the docks below, searching for any sign of the traitorous rat who'd set the whole ambush in motion. But like vermin everywhere, Starkey excelled at making a hasty exit.

"Bloody hell," Killian snarled under his breath. "He got away."

"Who?" Emma asked, her voice coming from close behind him.

"Starkey. He sold us out. Meant to kill me and deliver you to Blackbeard."

"Another pirate?"

"Aye. And Starkey had better hope that his new captain will honor their agreement even though he didn't deliver. I'll have the sorry bastard keel hauled if he ever shows his miserable face around here again."

"I don't understand. Why would be betray me?" Emma sounded hurt. "I saved his life on Skull Rock."

"Obviously he knows neither loyalty nor honor," Killian replied bitterly.

He turned to look at her.

She held her cutlass limp at her side and a smudge of blood smeared across her exposed calf all the way up to her knee where it had stained the edge of the flimsy shift she wore.

"The commotion woke me," she said, noticing his scrutiny of her dress.

"I'm grateful it did," he admitted. "You saved my life."

She looked uncomfortable, her gaze leaving his, shifting instead to his shoulder.

"You're hurt," she said softly.

He glanced down at the gash in his shirt and arm. It stung but hadn't lit up with true pain yet. "I've had worse."

"Maybe." She pushed her hair back over her ears and turned to pad back toward the open door of the captain's cabin. "But come on anyway. I'll patch you up."

For a second, he lingered at the ship's edge. His arm could wait; Starkey and Blackbeard would not. He needed to react to their move against him with swift brutality or risk losing everything — his reputation, his crew, his command, their very safety upon this isle. But when she paused to look over her shoulder to make certain that he was coming, he could do nothing but follow.

Stomach in knots, he sheathed his sword and crossed the deck after her. The slowing of his heart as the rush of battle ebbed left him sluggish and the air in his cabin seemed intolerably thick, an impression not helped by the tension arcing between them.

He closed and bolted the door firmly behind him while she lit a lantern.

Emma put her cutlass down on the table, poured water into a bowl, and motioned for him to sit.

"I suppose it's about time I returned the favor," she said with a hollow laugh as she gathered bits of material to use as a bandage. "You've done this for me twice now."

He forced a smile. "Then this will almost make us even."

She sat down in the chair across from him, her knees finding a place on either side of his. Her green eyes moved briefly across his face, searching, and then dipped to his arm. Underneath his shirt sleeve, he could feel blood trickling all the way down to his wrist.

"You'll need to take off your shirt," she said, her voice rough.

While he obediently worked free the buttons on his waistcoat and the black shirt underneath, she busied herself with wetting a rag. Her forceful wringing did not cover the loud swallow she choked down before turning to look at him again, her eyes immediately tracking down his bare chest before flicking back up to his face.

"A little help, love?" he asked, his good arm free but the injured one still trapped within his sleeve.

With a nod, she leaned forward and rolled the material down off his shoulder, their faces perilously close. His arm pinched and burned as she worked it free, easing the material out of his wound and then down past his elbow. The strange intimacy of the moment struck him when she dropped his bloodied clothes to the floor. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let someone care for him like this.

She closely inspected his injury while he sat, trying his damnedest to slow his breathing and the racing of his heart, aware that unclothed he'd be able to hide neither.

"It doesn't look too deep," she said. "Will probably leave a scar."

"Wouldn't be my first," he quipped.

Avoiding his gaze, Emma began cleaning away the blood.

She was gentle but thorough, dabbing at the edges of the wound and stroking slowly up and down his arm — even going so far as to lift his hand in hers and wipe away what had dribbled that far.

"Did you know Starkey and Blackbeard's men were coming for me tonight?" she asked.

Killian grunted. "If I had, I'd have met them with the whole crew, not outmatched six to one."

"You just happened to be on board when they got here?"

He shrugged.

Her eyebrows drew together. "Is that where you've been every night? Sitting up there, keeping an eye out for trouble?"

"Where did you think I was?"

She shook her head and exchanged the wet rag for a bottle of rum. "I assumed you went to one of the taverns like everyone else."

Killian licked his lips, finding his mouth suddenly dry. "Why would I go to a tavern? There's nothing for me there."

Her expression inscrutable, Emma glanced at him, then grasped his hand to pull his arm out taut, and poured a stream of alcohol over his wound. The pain that ripped down his arm far outstripped that of the sword slicing through his flesh.

" _Bloody hell_ ," he hissed.

Her lips quirked up into a smirk. "Now you know what it's like."

"I think you enjoyed that a little too much, love. Remind me to forgive the second round of doctoring you owe me."

She took his hand and propped it up on her shoulder. For such a capable woman, so strong and fearless, she was surprisingly slight. It wasn't fragility — he could never think her weak — but lightness and femininity. As she began to bandage his wound, his fingers flexed into her.

"If you've been staying up all night standing guard," she said, "then where have you been during the day?"

"Sleeping, mostly."

"Where?"

So curious about what he'd been up to.

"In the crew's quarters. They are all staying in town, so no one bothers me there."

"Is that why you wanted me to stay there, too?" she asked. "To stay close to the rest of the crew?"

"In part. Having you alone out here on the ship is asking for trouble. But  _The Golden Hind_  is also a fair measure more comfortable, like I said."

"I didn't mean to put you in any danger. I just couldn't stay there knowing…" Her voice trailed off.

" _Thinking_  that I may have been with another woman there?" he said, completing the sentence for her.

She tied off his bandage but left his hand perched on her shoulder. "Well, haven't you?"

He thought for a moment how to best answer her, aware that this might be the only chance he got to mend this particular rift in their relationship. There  _had_ been other women, just as there had been any number of bad and shameful things in his past — he couldn't and wouldn't deny it. But she had always known that about him. What he needed her to understand was the state of things  _here_  and  _now_.

"There are no other women," he finally said. "Not anymore."

Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath and shifted closer, her legs brushing against either side of his. The green of her eyes reminded him of the clear water of the lagoon, so beautiful his breath caught.

"Good," she said.

* * *

A low rumble of thunder caused Emma to shiver. Carefully, she lifted Killian's hand off her shoulder and deposited it on her knee, laid bare by the short shift currently riding up her thighs as she sat with her legs splayed on either side of his. In the hollow of his throat, she saw his pulse pounding. His bare chest expanded sharply outward as he drew in a quick breath.

None of the casual flirtations she'd had in the past even came close to the sheer sexual power generated by their proximity.

 _Gods_ , she'd missed him. 

She looked him over again, needing to reassure herself that he was okay.

Faint bruises had started forming along his ribs and blood had collected in the corner of his mouth where he'd taken a well-aimed punch.

Emma wetted a fresh rag and leaned forward to clear it away. He flinched at her touch.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," she murmured.

"You're not." His voice sounded low and husky.

Emma scooted closer, to the edge of her chair, making a show of inspecting her work as she dabbed the last of the blood away. She put a hand against his thigh for balance. It nearly unraveled her to feel his leg clench underneath her palm. His blue eyes, wide and wanting, met hers.

Falling into him, drawn by a force as inexorable as gravity, she brushed her lips across his.

A delicate kiss. Barely a whisper.

He let out a long, slow breath that tickled her face, and she kissed him again, the damp cloth stilling against his cheek and finally dropping away as her lips took over the task. Her fingers, free of the bloodied rag, cupped his jaw, rough with stubble.

"I thought…" He had to stop and clear his throat. "I thought you were done with me."

"I can't seem to help myself."

"You really want the pirate, love?"

She pressed a firmer kiss to his slightly parted lips, drawing in his breath.

"I want  _you_."

And everything that entailed.

The hand resting on her knee moved up her thigh, looped around the small of her back, and tugged her off her chair, into his lap. She slipped over his knees and crashed into the warm wall of his chest, nothing but the thin cotton of her shift between them to muffle the twin beats of their hearts. Emma groaned, pressed her body tight to his, her toes curling against the wood floor, and kissed him hard.

All the pent up frustration and longing of the past two days rushed to the surface. He held her tight, arching her body into his, while she gripped a shock of his black hair in one hand and his good arm in the other. His tongue found hers. And she feared the chair might tip over backwards with the furious way she tried to scramble even closer to him.

"Ah, Emma." He broke away to trail hot kisses down the side of her neck. "I missed you."

She could tell.

Between them, through the leather of his pants, rose hard proof of the days he'd spent yearning for her.

So much wasted time.

His mouth traced a path across her collarbone, teeth nipping, tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat, her head tossed back so that the loose ends of her hair brushed his knees. The scrape of his beard against the sensitive skin of her neck and the cold hilt of his sword pressing against her thigh reminded her that this was not idle play — Killian Jones was no innocent young nobleman, but an experienced man eager to have her.

His lips found their way back to hers again, the barest hint of blood mingling with their kiss. The brassy, animal taste made her hips rock into his.

A shock of white hot pleasure electrified Emma and forced a ragged moan out of Killian. The buzz it left in her blood was addictive. So she rocked again. And again. Hips undulating in slow, deliberate motions while they both shuddered and clung to each other. His arm around her waist seemed strong as an iron band, keeping her there, maintaining the sweet friction between them. His encouragement pushed her higher, drove her heart to sing louder and her blood to pump harder. She tore her mouth from his and gulped down desperate lungfuls of air, head dropping against his shoulder.

The sensation of his free hand pushing up her shift brought a swift, sharp clarity to her passion.

" _Yes_ ," she whispered against his neck.

The one word was encouragement enough. His fingers moved to her hip and the lacy edge of her underthings. He groaned and lifted the shift all the way up to her stomach.

His hand hesitated on its track up her ribs, toward her heart.

"Emma…"

She reached down between them and gripped the top of his pants, her nose brushing against his earring, and whispered, "More."

And…

_Yes. Gods._

His hand cupped the bottom of her breast. At the warm shock of his palm, her eyes pinched shut and her teeth scraped across the side of his neck. He hissed, squeezed, and she was gone. All reasoning and rational thought banished, drowned by a tidal wave of desire and instinct.

Emma leaned back long enough to raise her arms. It took him all of two seconds to pull the shift off over her head and toss it to the floor. Wavering, not quite steady without his body to lean against, she watch his eyes drop from her face, down to her belly and back up, drinking her in. She did the same. He looked devastating — his black hair stuck up in wild fistfuls, his mouth parted and flushed, eyes dilated and dark, ribs straining to contain his heavy breathing. But the expression on his face was what ruined her. Needy. Hungry. Enthralled.

He scooped her up with a pained grunt, one hand against her back, the other slipping underneath her rear, and stood. Free of the chair, Emma's legs closed around his waist, completing the circle they'd been trying to form since she'd first leaned in to kiss him.

A handful of steps brought them to his bed.

He laid her down, following close behind so that her ankles never broke the lock they'd formed at the small of his back. He paused only briefly to unlatch his sword belt and toss it aside.

With as many times as Emma had fantasized about being in this exact place in this exact position, she'd never imagined him as a slow and gentle lover. She'd figured a man of his ilk would be rougher, more demanding. But Killian slid his body languidly against hers, leaning against his elbows as he kissed her again, every movement artfully measured.

She'd dreamed of frenzy. Mindless clawing and grasping. But this was good, too. Really,  _really_  good.

His legs shifted as he worked to pry off his boots with his toes. Emma barely heard them clatter to the floor over her own ragged gasp when his mouth moved down her neck, his hair brushing against the underside of her chin, to press tender kisses right over her heart. There, he laved and suckled, groaned and moved against her until Emma could take no more.

" _Killian_ ," she said, voice breathy. Her feet shoved insistently against the back of his pants.

He obligingly lifted his hips off hers. As he pushed down his pants, he nestled his face against the crook of her neck, muttering something unintelligible. Emma turned enough to brush her lips across his ear and allowed her hand to stray boldly down his back, exploring his nakedness. A tremble shook her as his pants hit the cabin floor.

This was happening.

 _Gods above_. It was really happening.

He shuddered and rolled onto his side with her, dragging her along so that they lay face to face. Eyes searching hers, he brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Emma, love, I…"

Her hips found his and the hot, hard length of him, interrupting whatever he'd been about to say. It also destroyed whatever thread of willpower had been moderating his pace. Emma murmured her agreement when his hand shot down to latch onto the edge of her underthings. Together, they urged the lacy hindrance off. Then, equally bared, they rolled together — first, her on top, kissing him, her hands everywhere — then him, fingers trekking down her body, between her legs, and home.

She felt dizzy.

His palm worked against her, fingers buried deep.

The real object of her desire slid against her thigh. And,  _oh gods_ , she wanted him  _now_. Wanted desperately to find the peak of this mountain and crash back down the other side into sweet satisfaction.

With a growl, she pulled free and flipped them over.

Killian had never looked so handsome to her as he did when she held him down, hands on his shoulders, straddled his hips, and took what she so badly needed. She sank down slowly, more out of necessity than want. He gripped both of her arms and his eyes slid shut, a ragged sound drawn from his throat. Her thighs trembled. Her nails dug deep into his shoulders. And then, finally, she had all of him.

"I…ah..." She couldn't seem to say anything sensible. Her arms went weak, dropping her forward against him. His heart thumped underneath her ear, the only metric letting her know that time had not, in fact, stopped.

Emma breathed in the scent of him and began to roll her hips.

Then everything was feverish movement.

Mindless, Emma chased the building promise of release. She whispered encouragement in his ear, groaned his name, moving out of time with him only when she wanted more, or faster, or harder.

It hit her hard and with little warning. She felt a coiling one second, opened her mouth to tell Killian that she was almost there, and then, before she could even get a word out, it had her.

She cried out, clenched and spasmed and saw white, her whole body consumed by the fire of a screaming wave of rapture. It rocked her. Then, inexplicably, sent her spiraling even higher toward the ceiling and the stars when she realized he was right there with her, losing himself.

When it subsided, she fell back against him, sweaty and out of breath, still shaking.

For a long time, she lay on top of him, too liquid to move, and waited for the world to stop spinning.

Killian kissed her softly before rolling with her onto his side.

"What happens now?" Emma whispered.

"Right now? Nothing." He chuckled. "At least not until I've had the chance to catch my breath."

On the narrow bed, she was snuggled into the tiny slice of space between his body and the wall. Rather than claustrophobic, it struck her as safe — as something like home. Trusting that he intended to stay with her, to protect her, and that he meant what he'd said when he claimed there were no other women but her in his life, she settled into his embrace.

"And after you catch your breath?" she prompted.

His arms tightened around her and he let out a heavy sigh. "Then we have to go find Blackbeard."

Emma stiffened —  _not_  the answer she'd been expecting.

"Blackbeard? Why?"

"Because if I don't make it perfectly clear in short order that I won't tolerate any designs against me, it will invite a hundred more. He must be confronted."

Emma frowned. "It can't wait until morning?"

"I'm afraid not." He sounded as disappointed as Emma felt but went on to explain, "Blackbeard may not be here come morning. The fact that he sent his men tonight suggests that he means to set sail before daybreak."

"The rest of the crew is probably passed out somewhere by now," Emma pointed out.

He smiled, coaxed her onto her back, and nuzzled at the side of her neck. "Then I suppose the task falls to the two of us alone, love."

Neither one of them moved to get up. Killian lay on his side, idly stroking and kissing her until Emma's blood began to warm for him once again. Reluctantly cutting him off before things progressed too far, she pushed herself up out of his arms and searched the end of the bed for her underwear. Begrudgingly, Killian began to get dressed, too. He winced when he shrugged into his shirt, having to tug a little to get it over his bulky bandage.

Fully clothed once more, they both stopped to gather up their swords before departing.

Emma walked close to him, their hands and shoulders brushing. They stayed that way, one powerful, unified front, all the way to where Blackbeard's ship, the  _Queen's Revenge_ , sat docked along the wharf.

The sails, while not yet raised, were neatly gathered at the end of the ship's yards and the crew scurried about the deck like ants on an anthill — the only activity on the otherwise vacant docks at this late hour. Emma and Killian approached cautiously, keeping to the shadows while they took inventory of what they'd have to go up against. Blackbeard's crew had them vastly outnumbered.

"If they're leaving, then there might be no point to this," she whispered. "It doesn't matter what we do if no one finds out."

"Word will spread regardless of whether Blackbeard remains in port or not," Killian replied.

"Okay. So, what do we do? Take them on all by ourselves?"

"The only one we need to concern ourselves with is Blackbeard." He glanced at her, a small smile curving his lips, and put one hand on her knee. "I've an idea. Follow my lead."

"Okay."

She frowned, wondering what in the world he could possibly have planned, when he stepped confidently out of the shadows, straight up behind one of Blackbeard's men. With deadly efficiency, he drove the hilt of his sword into the back of the man's skull, crumpling him to the ground, then leapt jauntily over the pirate's body and onto the gangplank leading up to Blackbeard's ship.

Emma unsheathed her sword and ran after him.

"Hoy, mates!" Killian launched himself onto the ship's deck with a flashy swish of his sword. "I have business with your captain. No reason the rest of you need to be involved, so long as he's man enough to meet me face to face."

"From what I hear, it's not  _my_  manhood that's in question, Jones," a gravely voice responded.

 _Blackbeard_.

Emma couldn't see him yet as she jogged up the gangway, but she saw Killian swing to face his foe.

"You broke the oath of the island," he said, ignoring the other man's jibe. "I've come to see you properly punished."

Blackbeard laughed. "You've come to fight? Then by all means…"

"Oh no. Not me." Killian lowered his sword and waved to Emma who came up behind him. " _Her_."

A nervous round of laughter vibrated through the gathered crew.

Emma looked at Killian, concerned that somewhere in the last fifteen minutes he'd completely lost his mind, and then at Blackbeard.

She had so internalized Killian as her model of what a pirate captain should look like that seeing another example shocked her. Blackbeard was clean shaven, his square set jaw taking up the majority of his face, and wore his hair long, in messy ringlets that he allowed to drape over his shoulders. He wore a long, red woolen cloak, belted tight with an absurd number of buttons and buckles, and a large brimmed hat with a huge red feather that wavered in the night breeze as he looked Emma over, his expression cold and calculating.

"Letting a woman fight your battles now?" he said gruffly with an amused glance at his crew. "You've gone even softer than I'd imagined. But I do love it when a woman puts up a fight." His mouth quirked in a way that turned Emma's stomach. Blackbeard raised his sword. "It would be my  _pleasure_."

"Killian…" Emma muttered under her breath, uneasy.

"Trust me, love," he said with a small, reassuring nod, then stepped back.

Immediately, Blackbeard came at her.

She'd thought perhaps he might hold back at first, or hesitate at having to fight a woman, but he showed not the slightest trace of mercy. His sword clashed against hers with all the force he could muster, the only emotion on his face a flicker of surprise when she managed to deflect his blow. The crowd, who had all cheered for their captain as the fight began, hushed the moment they realized it would not be an easy win.

He was good. A practiced swordsman. Though not as good, Emma thought, as Killian. It took her a few passes to work out his technique — a messy amalgam, probably picked up hodgepodge from several different teachers, that had no real sophistication or finesse. He was brutal. He was bloodthirsty. And once she recognized that about him, he was pitifully easy to defeat.

She feinted, drew him in for what he thought would be a sure strike, then dodged, cutting a line across his cheek before looping her sword back around. She ducked under his arm and laid him out flat by bringing the hilt of her sword up hard underneath his jaw.

Dazed, he lay pinned, her sword poised over his throat, her foot pushing down hard against his wrist.

Puffed with pride, Killian stepped up beside her.

"You'll be run off this island when they find out you let a princess fight your battle for you!" Blackbeard roared.

Killian smirked. "I don't think my humiliation is the one anyone will be talking about come morning, mate."

Though she got the sense that, according to the code of the island, she was well within her rights to end the man's life then and there (and even, perhaps, take command of his ship), Emma let Blackbeard up, unharmed except for the bloody smear on his cheek, his battered pride, and his tattered reputation. No one tried to stop her or Killian as they turned and left, leaving him to his crew.

"You knew that I'd win," she said once they returned to the privacy of the captain's quarters on the  _Jolly Roger_.

"Aye. I've fought him before — over my ship, in fact, when he once tried to steal her. He's a decent swordsman. But nowhere near your league."

She tilted her head as she looked up at him. "It won't harm your reputation, like he said? Letting me fight your battle?"

" _You_  are the one Blackbeard truly meant to harm. Besides, building your own reputation here will do you a lot more good than protecting mine."

Her eyes searched his as she processed his words and everything beneath them that he'd left unsaid. He'd put his name on the line for her. In another man, this wouldn't have impressed her. But she knew what it meant to him. His renown was what kept the crew under his control, what allowed him to remain captain of the  _Jolly Roger_ , and was the means through which he meant to exact his long awaited vengeance for the death of his brother. Yet, without hesitation, he'd risked it purely for her benefit.

"You're much more than a prize to be won, love," he continued. "Now everyone knows it." The tips of his fingers brushed through the hair hanging over her shoulder. "You're a bloody force of nature. And a hell of a pirate."

Overcome by a sudden upswell of affection, Emma reached out and fisted a hand in his shirt. " _Aye_ ," she growled in her best approximation of his voice before giving him a shove in the direction of the bed, intent on keeping him there for the rest of the night.

* * *

The Huntsman's ship circled the island for two days. The pirate had docked where he could not follow. Most likely, the Huntsman thought, he meant to remain comfortably moored while the naval ships chasing him ate through all of their supplies, forcing them to return to port.

Briefly, he considered waiting the pirate out and commandeering what he needed from merchant ships to get by, but the thought of remaining at sea for so long turned his stomach. He devised another plan — desperate and with a slim margin for success, but no much more so than any of the other options left to him.

If he could get to where he knew Emma was going to  _be_ , he could set and spring a trap.

"Take me to the nearest port," he told the captain.

They were already at the southern fringe of Regina's kingdom. Slipping into Emma's would be easier overland than onboard an ostentatious warship. And, in any case, if the queen truly meant to kill him should he fail to assassinate the princess, then he wanted nothing more than to spend his final days breathing the fresh air of the forest and feeling the soft earth underneath his feet.

They had favorable winds and it didn't take long for the ship to reach shore. Everything fell neatly into place once he was on his own, back in his element. He rented a sturdy horse, stocked up on provisions, and rode day and night down the long, coastal road leading south, stopping only to rest, eat, and exchange his mount for a fresh one at every major settlement.

Once he reached Emma's capitol city, he could wait for the pirate ship to arrive with her at the docks, slip on board, kill her, and then flee the kingdom.

It'd be a tough job. But he trusted his ability to fight his way on and off the ship far more than he trusted the queen's mercy.

One last chance. He had to make it count.

* * *

The sound of work resuming on the  _Jolly Roger's_ hull woke Killian with a start. He blinked several times at the sunlight streaming through the windows above his head until Emma shifted beside him, drawing his attention. A blanket lay bunched loosely over their hips, her hair a tumble over one shoulder. She was half on top of him, her knee between his and her arm thrown over his chest, hand dangling over the side of his too-narrow bed.

Emma still refused to let him get them a room at the tavern, claiming that she liked staying on the ship and that the danger of her being attacked had passed. Indeed, after news spread of their confrontation with Blackbeard, the other pirates had begun to look on her with a mix of awe and respect. So Killian indulged her fancy, though he often lay awake at night curled by her side, listening for the sound of intruders.

Now, after lingering far longer than he'd intended in the pirate city, he was running out of further excuses to stay — the extra work to the hull the last of the chores he could manufacture.

Emma grumbled and stirred next to him. "Morning already?"

"Aye." He trailed one hand down her back. "But that doesn't mean we have to get up."

"Good." She stretched out her legs, shuddered, then relaxed again. "No business to tend to today?"

 _Only you_ , he wanted to say, the appeal of keeping her in bed the rest of the day far more tempting than the cold, hard truth — that they had to get back to sea. Even accounting for the terribly slow pace of a fully loaded merchant ship, they'd given Emma's message more than enough time to reach her kingdom. He needed to get her home.

But right now…

He rolled on top of Emma and set about kissing all of the places he'd missed the night before. In his whole life, he'd never woken up with a woman like this or reveled in one's company. With Emma, it was a struggle to force himself to surface. To remind himself that he had a life beyond her. Overwhelmed by his affection for the woman underneath him, he took his time exploring her body, enjoying every lingering moment and the sight of her nestled in his bed in the soft morning light.

A man could get used to this.

By the time they managed to get up, work on the hull had been completed.

Ed saw them exit the captain's cabin together.

"Orders for the day, Captain?"

"Prepare to set sail." Killian replied, wishing he had a different answer.

The men, who had enjoyed their long shore leave, were nevertheless eager to get back to sea. It took under an hour for Ed and Smee to round them all up and another for them to raise the sails, every last one of them smiling into the warm ocean breeze.

"How long will it take to get back to my kingdom?" Emma asked.

"Not long. A few days."

Her green eyes downcast, she reached out and brushed his hand with hers. "Then what?"

He'd been wondering the same thing. And as of yet, he had no honest answer for her. Would he stay, like she wanted, and join her father's navy?  _Become a part of something_. Or would he turn his ship around and go straight back to a life of pillaging and lonely vengeance? The more time he spent with her, the less he found himself thinking of Regina or Liam or his need for revenge. He wanted to feel good about that. But it left him instead with a vague sense of guilt, like he was somehow letting down his brother by moving on.

"I don't know," he finally admitted.

The  _Jolly Roger_  sailed out of the safety of the pirate city harbor by late morning. No warships met them. In fact, they saw no other ships at all even after the island receded out of sight behind them.

Though the crew already knew what was going on between their captain and the princess, there was no hiding it once they were back at sea. Killian didn't much mind the idea of his men knowing about them, but he cringed at the thought of anyone overhearing the private sounds she made in the night, meant only for him. Thankfully, if they did hear, no one dared speak a word.

Every free second he had, he spent with Emma.

He ate every meal with her. Taught her to use a sextant. Told her the names of the stars in the sky. Fell into bed with her whenever she'd allow it. And alone in the dark with the sound of the sea lulling them to sleep, he whispered in her ear everything except what he most wanted to — that he loved her — afraid of laying himself so bare.

Every night, the words grew closer, more urgent, more heartfelt. Soon, he knew, he'd have to tell her.

And then…

Then he'd never be able to leave her. Not even for his vengeance.

The  _Jolly Roger_  met no resistance on its way to Emma's kingdom, a sure sign that her letter had been delivered and her parents were awaiting her safe return. They didn't talk about it, but he figured her feelings on the subject were mixed. She had a family. People who cared about her. Surely she had to be looking forward to getting back to them. But he hoped she felt as he did about the prospect of separating from him. With each day, it grew harder to fathom a life without her.

Finally, the gleaming spires of her castle appeared on the horizon, signaling the end of their adventure together. For a while, Emma watched the city grow closer, her green eyes sparkling with delight.

At seeing her so happy, Killian's decision suddenly became quite simple.

He retreated into his cabin. Several minutes later, with the ship slowing as it came into port, she joined him.

"We did it," she said, grinning. "I'm back."

"Aye. Just as I promised," he said, returning her smile.

Emma pushed her hair back over her ears and walked up to him. In a now familiar gesture, she tangled her fingers in the pendants hanging around his neck and tugged him close for a kiss.

"Thank you. I know I didn't make it easy…"

"You had good reasons for doubting me."

Her long, dark eyelashes shuttered her eyes as she spoke. "Have you decided whether you want to stay and take a position in the navy?" she asked quietly. "We're down a ship, you know. Thanks to Regina."

"You truly believe your father would welcome me?" he asked with an arch of his eyebrow. He doubted that the king would be as friendly toward the pirate who had kidnapped and deflowered his beloved daughter as Emma imagined.

"He's a good judge of character," she assured him. "He'll see you for who you are."

"And  _you_  wish me to stay?" he asked, just wanting to hear the answer, his decision already made.

"Of course I do. I—"

A loud bang interrupted her.

The ship had slowed to a stop and Killian expected a certain amount of noise as the men set about weighing anchor and bringing in the sails. This, however, rattled the lantern hanging from the ceiling and sounded like something heavy hitting the deck above them.

"What the hell was that?" Emma asked, her eyebrows drawn together.

Cries reached them next — shouts, of anger and of pain.

They both drew their swords and raced up the ladder.

The deck was a chaotic mess, men running every which way — some presumably toward the fray and others away from it. Skylights was shouting from his position in the crow's nest. It took Killian a long moment even to spot the source of all the trouble.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting.

But it was certainly  _not_  the strange, unholy sight that met him.

A man stood next to the foremast, dressed in a long coat that looked as if it were sewn out of crocodile skin, the ridge of the beast's boney, plated spine running straight down the back. His hair fell in wild waves about his face, which glittered in the bright sunlight, an unhealthy, bizarre shade of golden-green. His wide, dark eyes zeroed in on Emma and with a wave of his hand he blew aside all of the men standing between them.

"Ah, there you are, dearie."

She stared, frozen in shock.

The man slithered toward her. "I've been looking for you."

"Who are you?" Emma demanded.

"Rumplestiltskin." His arms swept out in imitation of a bow.

A hint of recognition lit Emma's face.

Killian gaped. She  _knew_  of this creature?

"Now, be a good girl and come along, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said, offering her his scaly hand.

She stepped away from him and toward Killian who stood a few paces behind her. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"That's where you're wrong." He smiled, his teeth yellow and rotten.

Killian had heard enough. He stepped up to Emma's side, put on hand on her shoulder, and held out his sword, pointing it directly at the man's chest. "You heard the lady," he growled. "She's staying right where she is. Now get off of my ship."

With a sigh, Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist, a long, nasty looking dagger materializing out of thin air. Killian thought he saw something scrawled along the blade in the half second before the man swung at him with terrifying, preternatural speed.

The trajectory of the blow caught him off guard. He moved to block what he thought would be a strike to disarm him, only to find Rumplestiltskin's dagger flashing past the hand he had resting on Emma's shoulder.

Molten heat shot up his arm.

Sickening, horrible, numbing heat.

In bleak horror, he stared down at his wrist, uncomprehending.

It had been severed clean through, leaving behind a smoothly shorn stump, his hand gone.

" _Killian!_ " Emma cried out.

He dropped his sword to grip at the bloody end of his arm, his stomach turning over, the cottony haze of shock blurring his vision.

It wasn't possible. His hand.

_Gods! His hand!_

Next to him, Emma let out an animal shriek of fury. His head swimming, he watched as she buried her cutlass in between Rumplestiltskin's ribs, all the way down to the hilt.

The man didn't even flinch.

"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that if you want to kill me, dearie," he said, his hand shooting out to plunge deep into her chest.

" _No!_ " Killian shouted.

Rumplestiltskin's hand wrapped around her heart and with a cruel grin, he pulled. Killian knew what would happen next. But he couldn't look away, couldn't even blink, as the only person in the world he truly loved had their heart crushed in front of him all over again.

To his surprise, Emma stumbled forward when Rumplestiltskin tried to wrench her heart free.

Frowning, the imp tried once more.

And again, her heart refused to come loose.

Green eyes huge, Emma stared at him and he stared back, both of them baffled.

"Well," he drawled, "this is unexpected."

Killian struggled not to give into the blackness crowding around his vision.

"But there's more than one way, as they say, to cook a goose!" Rumplestiltskin let out a high pitched titter, then withdrew his hand from Emma's chest, shook it off, and snapped his fingers.

A puff of smoke enveloped her.

When it cleared, she was gone, replaced by a downy white swan.

Rumplestiltskin bent down, gathered the swan by its feet, and then scooped something else up as well that Killian only foggily realized was his severed hand.

"For taking what wasn't yours, Captain," he said and tucked the hand underneath his arm.

The swan — Emma — struggled, squawking and flapping, then cast a desperate glance at Killian before they both vanished in a cloud of green, her cutlass falling to the deck with a dull, heart-rending thud.


	10. In Which Bad Things Happen

And she—the dim and melancholy Star,  
Whose ray of Beauty reached him from afar,  
On her he must not gaze, he must not think—  
There he might rest—but on Destruction's brink.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 10: In Which Bad Things Happen

Regina picked at the plate of food sitting on the table in front of her, trying and failing to counterfeit some interest in yet another tiresome episode of "family time." Across the table, David and Snow chatted about their day, their voices a ceaseless drone in Regina's ears.

She had always wondered what life would have been like with a normal mother rather than Cora, who had excelled at looking after her own well-being above all else. Now, having finally gotten the chance to experience life with two devoted parents, her own childhood and adolescence seemed dreamy by comparison, so free of judgement and oversight. She could scarcely believe the years she'd wasted longing for this suffocation.

Between Snow's hen-pecking and David's ever-watchful eye, it was obvious the two feared she might shatter if left unattended too long.

_Maybe I over-sold the whole captured and abused by pirates story_ , she thought wryly.

Stealing a moment to herself within the castle required significant maneuvering, cutting in to the time she needed to complete her curse. And it didn't help that unexpected problems kept cropping up.

Like the letter that had arrived a few days ago.

Thankfully, it had been entrusted to a lowly merchant and not someone of actual influence, otherwise she might not have intercepted it in time. The man had been busy pleading his case with the lower echelons of the palace hierarchy, trying to earn himself an audience with the queen, when word reached Regina that someone had arrived claiming to possess an important dispatch from the princess. She'd put on her best face of indignation —  _The nerve! Trying to defraud the crown in such way!_  — and announced that she would take care of it.

The look of surprise on the man's face when she'd walked in disguised as Emma had almost made the entire incident worth the hassle.

"I take it you didn't hear the news of my return," she'd said cheerfully before ripping out his heart and sending him on his way with a sudden, profound desire to take up the noble pursuit of pig farming.

She'd burned the letter, but not before reading it and discovering, much to her chagrin, that Emma was on her way home. The princess had given no indication of how soon she might arrive, only that she was safe and happy. Regina bribed one of the palace cooks — a gangly, freckle-faced, freshly pubescent kid who sported a half-formed mustache and a raging desire to impress the princess — to loiter on the docks and keep watch for a ship matching the  _Jolly Roger's_ description. He hadn't even asked why. Regina didn't think he cared; he'd been happy enough simply to be speaking with her.

The lack of a timeline in the letter made Regina wonder if Emma was having second thoughts about coming home. She certainly couldn't fault the woman for preferring life on board a pirate ship to spending every waking moment in the company of Snow White and her charming husband. If Emma had any common sense, she'd seize her chance to bed the pirate, take over his ship, and sail off into realms unknown never to return.

A touch to her arm made Regina jump, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Emma?" Snow jerked her hand back.

_Damn_. Had they been talking to her?

"Are you okay?" Snow asked.

"I'm fine."

"You've barely touched your food."

_Oh, for the love of…_

"I have a lot on my mind." She crumpled up her napkin, laid it down on top of her plate, and pushed back from the table, more than ready to be done with the two of them for a while. "May I be excused?"

Snow's brow furrowed. "No. You may not."

" _No?_ " Regina blurted out, all of her frustration at having to mime obedience leaking into her voice. She was a  _queen_ , godsdamnit. Not a child.

This charade grew more trying by the day.

David and Snow exchanged glances.

"I told you that you didn't have to talk about what happened until you were ready, and I meant it," Snow started. "But, Emma…you haven't been yourself lately. You've been snapping at the staff. You never smile. And you've been closing yourself up in your room rather than doing things you enjoy. Lancelot says that you haven't shown up for a single lesson with him since you got back."

"We're worried about you," David added.

"You should be," Regina snarled, her mind skipping through all of the horrible things she'd ever contemplated doing to the both of them, to the terrible thing she was plotting even now, before settling back into the role she was supposed to play. "You don't know what I've been through. You don't understand. If you did, you've leave me alone."

"We just want to help," Snow insisted.

" _Helping_  would have been to get me off that ship," Regina replied. "There's nothing you can do for me now."

Not caring that she hadn't been dismissed, Regina got up and walked out, leaving the crestfallen pair behind.  _Let them chew on that for a while_ , she thought irritably.

Back in her room, she bolted the door shut and did her best to banish Snow, Emma, and all their messy family dynamics from her mind in order to focus on the task at hand — gathering the final ingredients for her curse.

None of them were easy to come by, even in the guise of a princess. But she'd made some progress. She'd needed three things: a piece of Snow and a piece of David, to tell the curse whom to target; and a talisman representing their true love to power it. Snow's portion had been the easiest. Regina had simply snuck into the woman's bedchamber and lifted several hairs off her brush. David's had taken a bit more thought and, in the end, a stroke of luck. He'd gone out hunting with a group of knights several days ago and nicked his chin riding through a dense copse of brush. Regina had managed to fetch his blood-stained handkerchief from the palace laundry.

Now, all she needed was the talisman of their true love.

Whatever  _that_  meant.

She had no idea what to choose or how to keep the two of them from noticing that some significant symbol of their love had gone missing for the time it would take her to finish preparing the curse, especially with their focus centered directly on her and her well-being.

If only she had something to distract them...

Sweeping back her skirts, Regina sat down at Emma's vanity and ran her fingers across the jewelry box that she'd repurposed for storing the components of her dark magic.

"Still undercover, I see," a familiar voice said behind her.

She looked up into the mirror and saw Rumplestiltskin standing at the foot of the bed, a smile stretching his face.

"I didn't realize you were such an accomplished actress," he continued with a wave of his hand. "You certainly never showed any signs of being able to conceal your thoughts while under my tutelage. If anything, your inability to direct your emotions was always your biggest failing."

Regina turned to face him, annoyed at the reminder that she had once been his student — much as her mother had studied under his predecessor. "Why are you here?"

"To deliver some good news."

"Good news? Now there's a change."

"I think you'll be quite pleased." He tented his fingers and leaned forward. "I found Emma."

Regina's breath caught. "Where?"

"On board a ship docked in the harbor. Picked her up a little less than an hour ago."

_In the harbor._

Damn, she'd gotten close.

"Now that you have her, our deal is complete?" Regina asked.

Why the imp wanted Emma in the first place was beyond Regina — as far as she could tell, there was nothing particularly special about the girl apart from being the product of true love, but there were plenty of easier to snatch women in the realm who could claim the same. It suited her purposes to hand off the person she most needed out of the way to her erstwhile teacher in the dark arts, so she'd never bothered to ask.

"Yes. Our deal is complete. But I do have one more thing. A parting gift, you might say."

"Oh?" Regina arched an eyebrow, suspicious. Nothing was free with this man.

"Your nemesis — the pirate — was injured. He'll need to seek medical attention in the city."

A slow smile curved Regina's lips. "You don't say."

"Do with that information what you will." Rumple bent over in a shallow bow. "A pleasure doing business with you, Your Highness."

And then he was gone, just as quickly as he'd appeared.

For a brief second, Regina considered the position he'd left her in. Obviously, he had some angle, some calculated reason for wanting her to go after Killian Jones. But the opportunity was a sweet one, and she couldn't see a downside. The pirate's predicament not only pleased her, it could easily be turned directly to her advantage.

Whether it served Rumplestiltskin's interests or not, she knew  _exactly_  what to do.

With a renewed lightness to her step, she unbolted her door, leaned out into the hallway, and called for the palace guards.

* * *

The warm grogginess of shock gave way to blinding pain as Killian's men rushed him off the  _Jolly Roger_. Smee had both hands clenched around a scrap of sailcloth that someone had fetched to wrap around the end of his severed arm. Blood seeped through. Smee squeezed harder, the sharpened agony making Killian's steps falter and a fuzzy blackness encroach on the edge of his vision.

"Stay with us, Captain," Smee said.

"I'm not going to  _bloody_  pass out!" he snapped back. "Just —  _godsdamnit_  — move faster!"

His crew had fanned out into the city ahead of him in search of a doctor. Killian didn't care who tended to his injury so long as they did so quickly. He had to go after Emma and save her from the clutches of that bloody crocodile…

Ed came running up to them.

"Two blocks over! A man! Says he can help!"

The trip to the doctor's house went by in a blur. The tremendous pain from his arm and his desperate rage over Emma's abduction narrowed Killian's focus down to a pinpoint, and he saw little beyond it. He barely noticed when they found the correct house and would have walked straight past it in a wounded, overwrought daze had Smee not tugged at his arm to stop him.

The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a man in his early thirties. He had short, blonde hair, a serious, angular face, and a pair of round spectacles perched on the edge of his nose.

"He get it caught in the ropes?" the doctor asked, his tone placid, as if men with such grievous injuries appeared at his door every day.

"No, sir," Smee replied. "It was cut off."

"By a sword," Ed added.

"A sword? Well, that makes things easier. Did you save the hand? I've been experimenting with reattaching severed limbs..."

"Afraid not."

"Ah. Shame. Well…come on, then. Get him in here before he bleeds to death on my stoop."

Killian, consumed with battling the sudden urge to retch, was shuttled into the man's house and over to a bed. The doctor urged him down onto the firm mattress covered with stark, white sheets, then ordered Smee to keep his arm held aloft to slow the bleeding.

Miserable, Killian closed his eyes and retreated into the darkest depths of his mind. He heard people talking and moving, felt appraising hands taking stock of him, but detected all of it as an impression of something distant and far away — as if it were happening to someone other than himself.

The release of pressure on his wrist brought him back to attention.

He cracked open his eyes.

The doctor sat beside him, examining his stump closely.

"There's a lot of work to do here," he said, meeting Killian's gaze. "But it could be worse. Be thankful for a clean cut."

"Guess it's my lucky day," Killian managed to croak.

"You'll probably pass out for the worst of it," the doctor assured him.

Ed shouldered his way in. "If you don't mind, I have a better idea."

The doctor's head snapped around, ready to reprimand Ed for butting in on his work, when he paused in surprise and reached out to take something from the man's outstretched hand.

"Is this what I think it is?" he murmured, turning it over in his palm. When he looked back at Killian, he smiled. "Guess it really  _is_  your lucky day."

Killian opened his mouth to protest, to tell the man to just get on with it, but before he could get any words out the doctor leaned forward and pressed something to the side of his neck with a sharp sting.

_The fainting fish_ , he realized. Ed had kept a barb.

The doctor pushed it in deep, massaging the venom sack on the end to push it into Killian's system faster. He didn't know how long he'd have before it hit.

"Ed," he said, reaching out to grasp the man's hand. "Find out everything you can about that creature. Rumplestiltskin."

"You just relax, Captain," Ed replied with a nod. "We'll have answers for you when you wake."

His body felt suddenly light, as if it were floating up off the bed. The blaring pain in his arm ebbed and darkness creeped over him — the venom beginning to do its work.

His last thoughts, disjointed and nightmarish in their drugged intensity, were of Emma's golden hair, white down stained with blood, and the rough scrape of scales across his ship's deck…all of it reeking of death and utter despair.

* * *

Dreams came to Killian before wakefulness.

He dreamed first of Emma and the life they'd almost had — of him joining the navy and turning the  _Jolly Roger_  back into the proud warship she'd been built to be, of fighting and defeating the Evil Queen on the fair field of battle, of earning back his honor and courting Emma properly.

As pain began to penetrate the effects of the fainting fish venom, his dreams turned dark — to the cold blackness of the crushing sea, the hot slide of a knife through flesh, the raucous cry of birds, and an inhuman hand crushing a heart to dust...

It was a relief to finally wake, even into agony.

He'd been moved to a different bed. Someone had taken off most of his clothes, leaving him in just his pants and loosely buttoned undershirt. A brightly colored quilt covered his legs and hips. His injured arm, now heavily bandaged, lay at his side, feeling achy, swollen, and leaden. His mouth tasted dry and sour.

The lingering effects of the venom scattered his thoughts, making it difficult to focus. He had no idea how much time passed before the doctor walked into the room and noticed that he'd woken.

"How do you feel?"

"Bloody awful," he replied, his voice ragged. "And thirsty."

The doctor fetched him a glass of water, then sat down on the side of the bed to help Killian drink it. His good hand trembled as he gripped the cup, the simple movement of sitting up in bed somehow thoroughly exhausting. A few meager sips trickled down his throat, enough to quench the worst of the thirst, and then he collapsed back onto the pillow.

"You'll be weak for a while," the doctor informed him. "It's no mean thing, losing a hand. We'll have to watch closely for signs of infection. But with some rest, I think you'll heal up nicely."

Killian wasn't ready to consider going through the remainder of his life with only one hand, and didn't want to admit to the days of recuperation that would follow before he'd be able to function, so he changed the subject.

"Are any of my crew here?"

The doctor shook his head. "I asked them to leave. You're not fit for company quite yet. Get some rest. Drink your water. I'll bring up some broth when I come back to change your bandages."

The doctor got up and left, his footsteps descending a set of stairs on the other side of the door. The short exchange had left Killian drained. Despite the ever-present pain in his arm, he slipped easily back to sleep, unbothered this time by dreams, good or bad.

He woke when the doctor arrived again with his promised bowl of thin broth and a fresh length of white gauze. In sick fascination, he watched the man unfurl the old bandage from his arm, slowly revealing the blunt, pink end of his wrist. A set of large, black stitches formed a pinched ridge along the end of the stump, like a dotted line on a map marking the end of known territory.

Oddly, it still seemed to him as if his hand were there. He half expected to feel his fingertips brush against the quilt top, and at the thought his mind provided the ghost of a sensation — more a disembodied tingling than anything genuinely tactile.

Unsettled, he looked away, wincing when the doctor coated his wound with a generous layer of pungent ointment before wrapping it up again.

"One of your crew is here if you're feeling up to talking."

Sleep had made a marked improvement in him, though his hand still trembled when he took the bowl of broth. He nodded anyway, eager to hear some news. "Aye. Send him up."

While he waited, Killian sipped his broth — a vaguely salty, thin, chicken flavored stock — and took a better look at his room. It was small and sparsely furnished with just a bed, a dresser, and one tightly shuttered window. A lantern hanging from the rafters lit the room and cast flickering patterns across the ceiling.

The door opened and Ed walked in.

"Have you discovered anything of Rumplestiltskin?" Killian asked the moment Ed crossed the threshold, too weary and pained to bother with pleasantries.

"A little." Ed crossed to stand beside the bed. "Seems he's also called the Dark One." At Killian's expression he added, "You've heard of him?"

"Aye. There's a nobleman who goes by that moniker in the north. He's managed to keep back the ogres somehow. Nothing thrives there but on his land."

"You think he and this creature might be one and the same?"

"I can't imagine there are many Dark Ones about," Killian replied. He took another careful sip of his broth while this information settled amongst the cobwebs still cluttering his mind. "The real question is what he's doing this far south. And what he wants with Emma."

Ed shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet. "That's the thing, Captain. Y'see…we've been hearing some awful strange rumors—"

Someone pounding against the front door interrupted whatever Ed had been about to say. Both men snapped their heads around to look toward the stairs, falling silent — they had spent far too many years on the wrong side of the law not to find an unexpected visitor alarming.

"I'm sure it's just someone needing the doctor's help," Ed said. "I'll go see."

Killian didn't wait to find out. The moment Ed left, he pushed the blankets off his legs and swung them down off the bed, his bare feet connecting with the cool, smooth floor. The effort it took to stand surprised him. His legs responded with frustrating sluggishness. Below, he heard the door swing open and muffled voices — sharp, urgent, and threatening.

_Bloody hell_.

As if things could get any worse.

He found his boots and struggled to pull them on one-handed. Pain and exertion left him panting.

The doctor shouted something and someone started up the stairs, the clank of armor accompanying each rhythmic step.

Killian swung his gaze around the room, finding no alternative exit except for the window which was hardly an option in his condition. Desperate and dizzy, barely able to keep his wits together, he searched for his sword. He'd had it on him when he arrived. Hadn't he? Or had he dropped it back on the ship when the Dark One cut off his hand? Hell, he couldn't remember.

The door banged open and a tall, dark-skinned man strode through. He wore a red cloak slung over chain mail, polished greaves etched with the flower sigil of Emma's family, and brandished a ornate, gleaming longsword.

"Killian Jones?" he demanded.

His huge frame and even more imposing presence pushed all the air out of the room. Killian could do nothing to defend himself — injured, unarmed, and weak as a newborn pup — when the man's steely hand locked around his upper arm.

"You're coming with me. By orders of the royal court, you're to answer for your crimes against the princess."

"Emma…?" Killian breathed, wobbling on his feet.

" _Don't_  you say her name to me," the man snarled, rage bleeding through his otherwise frosty demeanor.

Behind him, the doctor and Ed rushed through the doorway, momentarily jamming themselves in the passageway as they tried to enter at the same time.

"Lancelot! You can't take him!" the doctor protested. "He's under my care and is in fragile health. His injury requires constant care. If infection takes hold, it will kill him."

"That would certainly be a shame," the man — Lancelot — grumbled. "Don't worry, Victor. We'll take good care of him. He'll live long enough to receive a proper execution."

Lancelot tugged Killian forward by the arm, handling him as easily as a child's rag doll, and propelled him past the gaping doctor and the more circumspect Ed, who met Killian's gaze with a tightly guarded expression.

At the bottom of the stairs, a group of four armed guards waited to take him into custody. All wore royal emblems.

When his ship had arrived, seemingly without Emma aboard, the king and queen must have assumed the worst and sent out sentries in search of him, he thought.

None of the soldiers appeared inclined to listen to any protests of innocence, and Killian was truthfully too tired to make them. He didn't resist as they loaded him into a wagon outside and whipped the horses into a swift trot toward the waiting castle.

* * *

The dungeon was neat, tidy, and — except for Killian — empty.

Lancelot and his men didn't give him the chance to see much of Emma's home on the way there, though he'd caught glimpses of gardens overflowing with flowers, polished marble halls, colorful tapestries, and songbirds perched on open window sills. The dungeon had no windows but was well lit. His cell contained a single bed, bigger than the one he was used to on the  _Jolly Roger_ , and made up comfortably with clean blankets and a soft pillow.

Since Lancelot had ignored his every demand to see the king, he collapsed onto the bed, his injured arm cradled against his chest, and slept.

Twice, someone interrupted his slumber to change his bandages — first, a pretty little brunette in a red dress and then an older woman with graying hair and a gruff demeanor. Killian implored both to tell the king and queen that he had to speak to them, that Emma's life was in danger and every minute counted. Neither woman met his eyes.

Lancelot, who oversaw the proceedings from the cell door, barked at him to be quiet.

"She told me about you," Killian said to the knight, changing tack. "About how you tutored her in swordplay. Excellent work, by the way. She's quite skilled with a blade."

Lancelot huffed. "If she'd truly shown you what I taught her, you'd be missing a lot more than your hand."

Killian swore and bolted to his feet, startling the woman who had just finished with his arm.

"You should be out there hunting down Rumplestiltskin, not down here wasting time with me!" he roared, stalking across his cell to grip at the bars as Lancelot pulled the door shut behind the nurse.

As usual, Lancelot didn't respond or even look at Killian. He took the woman by the arm and led her away, so untouched and impassive that Killian wondered if he possessed a heart at all. Did  _anyone_  in this kingdom? The more time he spent here, the more he found it difficult to believe that any of these people could be related to someone so lovely, fierce, and true as Emma.

"Damn it! Emma's in danger! She needs your help!" He shook the bars with his good hand as Lancelot vanished around a corner. "Why the hell don't any of you people seem to care?"

"Maybe because they have nothing to worry about," a voice replied from the other side of the dungeon.

Killian froze, certain it had to be a hallucination, the continuing ache in his arm addling his mind. Because that had sounded exactly like…

_Emma_.

She stepped into view, a vision. Gone were the plain breeches, leather jacket, and sturdy boots he'd come to know her in, replaced by palace finery. The dress she wore whispered across the stone floor as she approached. Her hair, always worn loose over her shoulders or up in a simple ponytail while on board the  _Jolly Roger_  was secured in a complex chignon bound by silver netting and pearls. The red tint of her lipstick made the slight upward curve of her smile stand out against the pale backdrop of her cheeks in the lantern light.

"You're…" He could hardly breathe, relief and confusion overwhelming him.

She paused a step away from the bars of his cell.

"Is it really you, love?" he asked, blinking hard.

"Of course it's me."

His forehead thumped against the bars as he sagged into them, reaching through for her. His fingers barely brushed the smooth material of her dress. "Gods. It's good to see you. What happened? You got away?" He laughed — a high pitched, giddy sound. "I should've guessed. You're bloody incredible."

"Actually, Rumplestiltskin returned me to the castle on his own," she said.

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because he never intended to harm me. He was sent to retrieve me."

"By whom?"

"His son." Her green eyes locked on his. "My fiancé."

His stomach lurched.

"You're  _engaged_?"

"Yes. His name is Baelfire. I was on my way to wed him when the ogres forced me to turn around."

"No. That can't be." He took a step back, shaking his head, willing himself to wake from this fresh nightmare. He scrubbed at his eyes, but she remained before him, as solid as ever, the glitter of dark satisfaction flitting across her face for so brief a second that Killian wasn't certain he'd seen it at all.

"Why not?" she asked and took a step to close the distance he'd put between them.

"Because you don't love him. You can't."

She  _had_  mentioned something about a suitor but never once indicated that she had any interest in the man whatsoever, let alone that she'd promised him her hand.

Emma laughed, the sound cutting through him as sharply as any knife. "Let me guess, I can't be in love with him because I'm in love with you?"

His jaw clenched.

" _Killian_." She purred his name with an edge of sensuality somehow both threatening and pitying. "Honestly. Between the two of us, who'd have thought the pirate would turn out to be more naive?"

"We had something."

"Did we?" Her fingers wrapped around the bars, her breasts pressing against the cell door. "You captured me. What choice did I have except to play to your affections and pretend I was falling for you."

"You did a  _hell_  of a lot more than fall, lass."

She shrugged. "You're handsome enough. And I'm about to be married. It was fun. But it's over now."

His heart stuttered, suddenly so frail that every beat threatened to shatter it. Could she really have played him so expertly?

One thing was certain: this was  _not_  the woman he'd fallen in love with.

He stared at Emma, seeing the lips he'd kissed long into the night, the hair he'd threaded through his fingers, the hands that had trailed comfortingly up and down his back as he'd told her stories of life onboard a ship with Liam in his youth, but he didn't recognize anything beneath the exterior. She had no heat in her eyes when she looked at him. Or kindness, for that matter. Just clear, calculated cruelty. The Emma he'd come to know had vanished, as if she'd never existed at all.

"Rumplestiltskin tried to kill you," he said, grasping at the last loose thread in her terrible story that made no sense, hoping he might unravel it completely. "He tried to rip out your heart and turned you into a swan after you ran him through."

"A swan?" Her eyebrows shot up with the force of her incredulity. "Pretty sure I'd remember that. You must have imagined it. Maybe you were in shock after he cut off your hand."

He glanced down at the heavily bandaged, blunt end of his arm, nausea churning in the pit of his stomach.

It was too much to process...too much to mourn — the loss of his freedom, a limb, and the woman he loved all at once.

He stumbled to the side of his cell, his good hand reaching out to grasp the wall lest the crushing weight of heartache bring him to his knees.

"It wasn't anything personal," Emma continued, her tone making him think that she didn't mean a word of it. Of course it had been  _personal_. "I did what I had to. I'm sure you understand."

"I don't understand at all."

"Someday you will."

"Unlikely, since I'm to be executed for your abduction. At least tell them I never hurt you?"

"I've already told them everything," she replied and, at his expression added, "Well… _almost_  everything. There are some things a father doesn't want to hear about his daughter. But this isn't just about me. You've been out there robbing and killing and pillaging for years. You never thought it would catch up to you? Don't kid yourself. You're not a good and noble man. You never have been."

"But this Baelfire, son of the Dark One, is?"

"He's noble, at least. Plus, you saw Rumplestiltskin. He's powerful. He can protect my whole kingdom from the ogres."

A wave of revulsion rocked him.

"That's what this marriage is to you, then? A trade?"

"That's the reality of being a princess. My life isn't my own. But I'm sure I'll be able to make it work. I did with you, after all," she said, her voice mocking. "You should never have interfered. Goodbye, Killian."

As he watched her go, the ground seemed to shift underneath his feet. He stumbled back toward his bed and crumpled onto it. Pain rang up his arm. A far worse ache bloomed in his chest.

His mind raced through every minute they'd spent together, searching for signs of her duplicity and found none. Even now, his memories of being her in company seemed so genuine, so full of passion and affection — the happiest days of his short life. How could it have been nothing but a fabrication?

Eyes pinched shut to hold back the hot, stinging tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, he dropped his head into the cup of his palm, thought of the gods of the sea and stars and sky that he'd once held dear, and wished that he'd never met the beguiling princess.

* * *

Emma didn't know where she was or how she'd gotten there.

Her head felt fuzzy, as if she'd just woken from some half-forgotten dream. Last she remembered, she'd been on board the  _Jolly Roger,_  plunging her sword deep into Rumplestitlskin's ribs while Killian clutched the bloody end of his arm next to her. Whatever happened after that was a blur — she had the sense that time had passed, that she'd been aware of things happening around her, but couldn't clearly recall any of it until finding herself alone in a dark, stone dungeon. The heavy wooden door to her cell had a window, but it had been tightly shuttered so that she couldn't see out. Another small window, also barred and barely large enough for a cat to squeeze through, showed a slice of sky and let in a shaft of yellow sunlight. A small, unmade bed took up one wall but didn't boost her up high enough to peek out.

She sat down on the edge of the mattress, hands clasped on her knees.

It was easy enough to deduce that Rumplestiltskin had captured her. What concerned her more was what had happened afterward.

Was Killian still alive?

The horrible image of him maimed and pale with shock was vivid in her mind — perhaps even more-so because of all the fog surrounding it. She trembled at the thought of him rising up to defend her, only to be struck down again, permanently this time…his body shrouded and sinking into the cold, dark depths of the sea.

_Gods. Don't think like that_ , she scolded herself.  _He's okay. He's got to be…_

It would do her no good to worry anyway. She needed to keep her head about her if this was, indeed, Rumplestiltskin's dungeon.

What did he want with her?

First Regina, and now this? Why did everyone suddenly seem to think she was worth kidnapping? Emma had her strengths, sure…but she was far from extraordinary. Far from being the kind of person worth risking war to possess.

She got up again to pace.

At some point, someone had taken the time to change her clothes. Rather than her doeskin pants, boots, and jacket she was now barefoot and had on a plain, calf-length dress, baggy and unfitted, the edges fraying where stitching had come loose. A large blue shawl lay across the bed, given to her, she supposed, for warmth. She pulled it over her shoulders and clutched it at her throat, able to feel the anxious fluttering of her pulse against her knuckles.

From the other side of the door, she heard a bolt slide open.

Emma tensed, expecting another round with the imp who had captured her, but a young woman walked in instead. She smiled bashfully before closing the door behind her.

"You're awake," she said, her accent thick and not one Emma was familiar with. "That's good. Here. I brought you something to eat."

She held out a tray with a bowl of steaming soup, a buttered roll, and a large mug of water. Emma's stomach rumbled at the sight and the woman nodded approvingly when she took the food and set it down on the end of the bed.

"I'm Belle, by the way," the woman said, lingering by the door, her hands clasped.

Belle looked to be about Emma's age. She had thick, dark hair that fell in fat ringlets over her shoulders, a softly rounded face, and a mouth that seemed inclined to smile whether she wanted it to or not. Her blue and white dress and soft, accented voice gave the impression of sweet naiveté that struck Emma as entirely out of place in this dark dungeon cell.

"I'm Emma," she replied. "Mind telling me where am I, exactly?"

"Rumplestiltskin's estate."

"That's what I thought." Emma sighed and sat down, lifting the bowl of soup to tip some into her mouth. It was savory and hot and drove away some of her foreboding for the seconds in which it lingered warm in her belly. "Are you a prisoner here, too?" she asked.

Belle lifted her shoulders and looked up at the ceiling. "Not exactly. I came here willingly. My father made a deal with Rumple. I came to live with him, to be his servant, and in exchange he has been protecting my kingdom from the ogres."

"His servant, as in…?"

"I cook. Clean. It's not that bad, really."

Emma scoffed, finding that hard to believe. A young, beautiful woman like Belle completely at the man's mercy, and he had her dusting his knick-knacks? Right…

"Do you know why he brought me here?" she asked.

Belle shook her head. "He hasn't said anything about it, just asked me to look in on you. I'm sorry." She paused, considering. "I did overhear him arguing with Bae. Your name came up."

" _Bae_."

With everything that had happened, she'd forgotten all about Baelfire — Rumplestiltskin's son, the man she'd been on her way to meet before getting turned around by ogres and having her life flipped thoroughly upside down. She'd been sent to try to negotiate an arrangement for protection from the ogres.

Was Belle's fate what he'd had in mind to propose? Was she to be Baelfire's servant?

_Over my dead body…_

From what little she remembered of Baelfire from meeting him at her coming of age ball, he was nothing like his father. No scaly skin or lizard-like eyes or high pitched laugh, at least — if he'd picked up any of those traits from his father, he'd have been a hell of a lot more memorable. She recalled only a normal man, a few years her senior, with tousled brown hair and a laid-back charm that had made him easier to talk to than the rest of the noblemen who had seemed so intimidated by her.

Perhaps he could be reasoned with.

"Do you think you could get Bae a message for me?" she asked.

"I don't know," Belle demurred. "It's not really my place…"

"It's nothing that would get you in trouble," Emma promised, though she had no idea if that was true. "Baelfire's an old friend. Just tell him that I want to see him. Please."

After some thought, Belle nodded. "Okay. I'll let him know." She gestured to the food. "You really should eat."

Emma finished her soup and then ripped into the roll, surprised at how hungry she was once she got going. Belle's cooking — if she was really the one who'd made the meal — was excellent. She finished everything off in a matter of minutes and washed it down with a long gulp of the cool, crisp water.

"Makes me feel almost human again," she said with a sigh.

A strange, pinched smile crossed Belle's face. "I suppose so." She leaned down to take the now empty tray. "I'll be back later with your dinner. And I could bring something to help you pass the time if you'd like. A book, maybe? Rumple has an amazing library."

"Thank you. That would be nice." Emma stood up to follow Belle toward the door. For a second, she considered knocking the unsuspecting girl unconscious and trying to escape but thought better of it. Rumplestiltskin had already proven himself immensely powerful. If it was possible talk her way out of this without risking the man's wrath, she had to try. "Don't forget to give my message to Bae," she said as Belle slipped back out the door.

"I won't," she vowed, then closed it tight behind her.

The food had soothed Emma enough to put an end her to pacing. She settled on the bed, her back to the wall and her elbows propped on her knees, her thoughts with her parents, her friends, and — more than anyone — with Killian as she watched dust motes floating through the slowly migrating beam of sunlight that cut a path through her cell.

Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the cover slid back from the window on her cell door.

"Emma?" a man whispered.

She was across the small space in a heartbeat, her hands wrapped around the window's bars.

"Baelfire?"

He stood out in the hallway looking in. His doe-brown eyes and scruffy goatee brought back a flood of memories of the night they'd met, years before. They'd talked. They'd danced. She'd kissed him. ( _Gods. She'd kissed him? Why?_  She couldn't recall her reasoning now, but seeing as she'd only been sixteen at the time, she supposed she'd probably had none.)

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. I guess. Bae…what am I doing here? What does your father want with me?"

He frowned. "I think he brought you here for me."

" _For_  you? Do you realize how sick that sounds?"

"I know. It's crazy. I never would have mentioned you to him if I knew this was what he was going to do! I just…I never stopped thinking about you after that night—"

"It was  _one_  night,  _years_  ago."

"I know. But I think he figured that bringing you here could make me happy." He sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. "He didn't tell me what he was planning. Just showed up with you."

"So tell him to let me go."

"I tried that. He won't listen."

"Make him listen."

"It's not that easy," he said with a shake of his head. "Trust me. You don't know him. I've tried to change his mind before, and it's never worked."

"Maybe it will this time. Try again. You have to."

He took a step back from the window, his lips pressed together. She could see the internal conflict warring within him and hoped like hell it would resolve in her favor. He  _had_  to help her. If he cared about her at all, he wouldn't leave her like this.

"I know it doesn't seem like it," he finally said, "but you're safe. He won't hurt you. If I push him too much though, he might. You should stay here for now. At least then you'll be okay."

"Bae…"

He reached to close the window.

"Bae! No!"

"Trust me. I'm doing what's best for you," he said.

The window closed on his words, shutting Emma back into the dim, lonely silence of her cell.


	11. In Which Killian Meets the King

The Pacha wooed as if he deemed the slave   
Must seem delighted with the heart he gave;   
The Corsair vowed protection, soothed affright,   
As if his homage were a Woman’s right."  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 11: In Which Killian Meets the King

Killian awoke from a fitful sleep to the sound of approaching footsteps. When they stopped in front of his cell, he sat up and held out his arm for what he expected to be one of his thrice daily bandage changes, not even bothering to look at his visitor.

"I don't see why we continue to bother with this," he said with a weary sigh, "seeing as the king and queen mean to see me dead anyway."

"Because unlike you,  _pirate_ , we do not believe in unnecessary cruelty."

The unfamiliar voice, so thick with contempt, snapped Killian to attention.

The king stood on the other side of the cell bars, instantly recognizable thanks to his resemblance to Emma. They shared the same honey-blonde hair, green eyes, and angular jaw. David wore a stern expression and a long, red cloak with a furry collar designed to make him look bigger than he actually was — a lion's mane proclaiming his dominance.

Killian stood.

"You intend to let me heal from my injury before tying me up at the stake, then?"

"It's more than you deserve after what you did to my daughter."

"Did to her? You should be thanking me. I saved her life."

"You  _took_ her life!" David lurched forward, his hands wrapping around the cell bars tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

"Oh. Is that what she told you?" Impending doom and momentary safety made Killian bold.

"She didn't have to tell me anything. I know exactly what happened on that ship."

" _Do_  you?" He let out a choked laugh. Whatever the king imagined couldn't possibly come anywhere close to the truth — that he'd made Emma part of his crew; that he had rescued her from the wild clutches of the open sea, been rescued by her in turn, and had spent countless blissful hours wrapped in her arms.

"You took advantage of her," David said, his chin in the air.

"I'm afraid you have it backwards, mate." Killian walked close enough to the cell bars to get a good look at the king's face but remained out of arm's reach. "The only one taking advantage of anyone on that ship was your precious princess."

A thready muscle at the back of David's jaw twitched as he fought back his rage. "There is no law preventing me from cutting you down where you stand. Don't tempt me."

Killian merely shrugged. "Why prolong the inevitable?"

"There's a difference between justice and vengeance."

"With you acting as my judge and jury? I fail to see the distinction."

David drew back from the cell door, his composure returning.

"Even in this, Snow and I will strive to be fair."

"Yes. That's right. I forgot — the two of you are paragons of virtue. Must have slipped my mind after I learned that you sold Emma to Rumplestiltskin in exchange for protection from the ogres."

David's eyebrows drew together. "Rumplestiltskin?"

"Aye. The crocodile you sent to fetch Emma from my ship. The monster who cut off my hand." Killian raised his bandaged stump with a glare. "Might want to be careful with that one. He'll turn on you the second it benefits him. Trust me. I know the type."

"I'm sure you do. But I've never met Rumplestiltskin—"

"The Crocodile tells another tale," Killian interjected.

"—and I certainly didn't send him to your ship to 'fetch' my daughter. Emma's been home for weeks."

This news sent Killian's mind reeling.

"She's...what? No. That's not possible. Unless…"

_Bloody hell._

He had been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn't even paused to consider the fact that Emma had seemed like  _a completely different person_.

It made a terrible amount of sense…

Her coldness. Her sudden betrothal. The discrepancies between her version of events and what he recalled.

This Emma was an impostor.

She had to be.

Which meant the  _real_  Emma…

Killian's mouth went dry with horror.

"She's still out there," he murmured.

Rumplestiltskin had her captive and no one knew.  _No one_  was looking for her.

Staggered, he drew in a long breath. The ground seemed to give way underneath his feet as a profound mix of fear, relief, and anger washed over him. Feeling pale, his heart pounding, he steadied himself against the bars of his cell and looked through them at the king. Her only hope now hinged on him convincing this man to believe the impossible, to set aside the daughter he'd welcomed home and send his troops into battle against a powerful wizard, purely on the word of a pirate.

He tried not to let the hopelessness of the situation overwhelm him.

"Tell me, mate," he began, aware of a slight quaver to his voice, "have you noticed anything different about Emma since she returned?"

David scowled. "Why? Eager to hear the effects of your handiwork?"

"No. I just…" Killian struggled to find a way to explain himself that didn't sound insane. "She came to see me earlier and she didn't seem like herself."

Surely the impostor couldn't know Emma well enough to fool her own parents for long. They had to have an inkling that something was amiss.

"Trauma will do that," David said dismissively.

"This is more than that. Something deeper. Come now…she hasn't said anything that struck you as odd? Done anything out of character? Nothing that made you feel as if she might not be the daughter you raised?"

David's hand moved to the hilt of his sword. "What are you trying to get at, pirate?"

"That maybe she isn't," he said in a rush. "Emma was never rescued from my ship. Nor did she escape. She didn't need to. My intention was always to bring her home, and I did just that. She was on my ship when I sailed into your harbor…all the way up until the moment the Dark One arrived, cut off my hand, and stole her away."

David stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "No… _No!_  I don't believe you. Why would you bring her home? You abducted her."

"Aye. To keep her from Regina."

Regina...

_Ah, Gods…_ _Regina._

He swayed into the bars as the casually cruel tone he'd heard in Emma's voice slotted into place. He'd heard it before, had recognized it with a kind of instinctual, subconscious revulsion.  _This_  was why Regina had wanted to capture Emma and why she had sent her ships to sink the  _Jolly Roger_  once her plan had been foiled — because she had needed Emma out of the way in order to take her place.

"The Evil Queen," he said breathlessly.

David shook his head in confusion. "What does Regina have to do with this?"

"Everything."

_Godsdamn!_  How had it taken him so long to put it all together?

"I heard through spies I have within her court that she had plans to kidnap Emma. That is why I moved to grab her first."

"To keep Regina from getting her?" David said in an exasperated tone. "What in the world would she want with Emma?"

"I believe she has some plot against your family."

"Regina  _is_  family. She's my wife's step-sister. Emma's aunt."

How the hell had  _that_  morsel of information never crossed his path before? With all he knew of the Evil Queen, he had never once heard so much as a whisper of her relation to the pure and virtuous Snow White. Momentarily stymied, not sure how many more revelations his heart could take, he cast about for a response.

"Perhaps she fears that your wife might seek to unseat her from the throne," he finally suggested. "The people would certainly welcome a break from her tyranny."

For a brief, tantalizing moment, David hesitated — appearing to consider the possibility, crazy as it was, that Emma had been rescued from the clutches of her evil aunt by a marauding pirate only to be captured by a dark imp and then magically impersonated.

_Gods_. It sounded even worse when condensed down.

"If there's even the smallest chance I'm telling the truth," he continued, "it means that Emma is still in danger. The Dark One has her, and he doesn't intend to ever give her back. You've got to at least send someone to investigate on the off-chance that it may save your daughter's life."

David's posture faltered, hesitation and confusion bending his brows together.

Killian pressed on. "You know her. You know how strong she is. It would take a lot more than a pitiful scoundrel like me to break her. She's not traumatized. I never hurt her. I never  _would_. I swear to you. She's…we…I care about her. And that woman — that  _fake_  — isn't the the Emma I  _bloody fell in love with_."

At this, David turned away with a sharp shake of his head. "I've heard enough."

"Mate, please…"

"I'm not your  _mate_!" he shouted, his voice raw. "I don't even know why I bothered coming down here. Whatever you're trying to accomplish by telling me this fairy tale about my daughter, it's not going to work. Next time you see me, it will be at your trial."

With a swirl of red cape, the king strode away, leaving Killian slumped against the bars of his cell.

His heart felt stretched between twin peaks of hope and despair. Emma hadn't forsaken him; what they'd had on the  _Jolly Roger_  had been real. But she was also in grave danger and the Evil Queen was in her home, plotting some terrible fate for her family. He looked down at his heavily bandaged stump of an arm, his feelings of helplessness slowly transforming into anger.

_Regina_.

She'd destroyed his life all over again. It hadn't been enough to take his brother? His innocence? Now she'd taken his ship, his hand, and his love as well?

Black rage, hot and horrible, stirred in the pit of his stomach.

"She'll pay for this."

* * *

Emma didn't sleep much on the small cot in her cell. The narrow expanse of mattress reminded her too much of the captain's bed on the  _Jolly Roger_ , and she missed Killian all the more sharply when lying upon it. At one point, she drifted off and dreamed of him — his stubble tickling her cheek, his warm chest pressed tight against hers, and his low chuckle in her ear. In the feeble light of dawn, she sat slumped against the wall, trying not to feel sorry for herself and failing miserably.

When the door creaked open, she quickly pulled herself together.

Belle stepped in and cast her a kind smile.

"I brought you some breakfast."

She bore a tray topped with a plate of poached eggs and ham, a small bowl of fruit, and a stack of freshly folded clothes.

Emma eyed the latter. "What's this?"

"A proper dress. I would have had it available for you when you arrived, but I had to dig it out of storage. It belonged to Rumple's wife. Baelfire's mother."

Emma picked up the dress — a simple, utilitarian white cotton chemise, green bodice, and green skirt with white embroidery, some of which had come unstitched and been sloppily repaired — and held it against her body. It looked like something a peasant woman would wear, and not a particularly well-off one at that.

"I take it she's not in the picture anymore? What happened to her?"

Belle shrugged. "I don't know."

"They never talk about her?"

"It was a long time before I got here. I think maybe she died…" Belle frowned, though Emma couldn't tell for whom she felt sorry: Rumplestiltskin, his long-dead wife, or their unfortunate son. "Did you get to talk to Bae?" she asked.

Emma took the tray from Belle and nodded. "Yes. Thank you for getting him my message."

Not that it had done her much good.

She still couldn't believe he'd refused to help her. The fact that he'd lost his mother at an early age and had grown up with only a monster for a parental figure tempered her anger toward him somewhat, but not so much that she felt as if she might ever forgive him.

While Emma ate her breakfast, Belle sat with her and gamely answered questions about her kingdom. She was the youngest of several daughters and had been engaged to be married before Rumple had shown up and asked for her in exchange for protection from the ogres. Emma tried to hide her disgust; she couldn't imagine her own parents trading her away in some kind of deal, not even for the safety of the kingdom. Belle did not appear to feel the same. She spoke with relief at not having to marry her then fiancé, Gaston. And of Rumple she spoke with supreme tolerance…even warmth.

When Belle left, Emma changed into the borrowed white and green dress, then busied herself by prowling the length of her cell, plotting a way out.

"One would think you'd be used to captivity by now," said a voice, surprising her.

She spun around to find Rumplestiltskin standing by the door. He hadn't walked through it, just appeared inside the cell with her from out of nowhere.

"Oh…but you weren't exactly a  _captive_  on board that pirate ship. Were you, dearie?"

Emma squared her shoulders. "What do you want with me?"

"I brought you here for my son, of course."

"To what? Be his slave? His wife?"

Rumple shrugged. "Whichever makes him happy."

"What makes you think I can make him happy?"

"Because he loves you."

"He can't. He doesn't even know me. He met me  _once_. Years ago. Things have changed since then.  _I've_  changed."

"Yes." He looked her up and down, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "Not exactly the fresh maiden you were at your coming of age ball anymore, are you?"

She didn't blush or back down at the implication that her time spent with Killian had somehow ruined her. Instead, she took a step toward Rumple, her chin held high, and said, "You can't deliver me to Baelfire like some kind of gift and expect it to make him happy. He won't want me at all once he finds out that I have feelings for someone else."

"He's not  _going_  to find out," Rumple hissed. "Because if you so much as mention that you've ever so much as  _set foot_ on a ship to my son, I'll see to it that your pirate captain never sees the light of day again."

Emma's heart constricted. "He's still alive?"

"Not to you, dearie."

His threatening tone rolled right off Emma. All she felt was relief.

_Killian was alive._

Perhaps even now he was on his way to save her, her father's army behind him.

The thought gave her an unexpected shiver of foreboding. Rumplestiltskin was not an enemy to take lightly. She'd thrust a sword straight through his heart and it hadn't done him harm. If he could be defeated at all, she didn't think it was by physical means. The losses in any campaign to free her would be high. Too high. She needed to find her own way out. And soon.

Rumple smiled his lizard grin at her. "You are invited to dinner this evening."

Emma met his gaze. "With you?"

"And Bae. I expect you to be on your best behavior."

"Of course."

"Belle will fetch you." He turned as if to leave, then paused and glanced back at her again. "Did she bring you that dress?"

Emma ran her palms over the skirt and nodded.

He regarded her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable, before snapping out of whatever reverie seeing his dead wife's clothing had thrown him into. Then, with a woosh no louder than the flap of a butterfly's wings, he vanished.

* * *

The plush furnishings in Rumplestiltskin's expansive estate surprised Emma. Having only seen the dark, stone dungeon and the home's reptilian master, she'd expected something cold and dark. Instead, Belle led her through thick-carpeted halls lined with gilt framed paintings. On the way to the dining room, Belle stopped to show her the library. Bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling around the entire room. A huge desk covered in papers and odd knicknacks occupied the middle of the space. And, strangely, a spinning wheel sat in the corner in front of a large window that overlooked a thick, sunny forest.

The dining room was similarly appointed. A table large enough to seat an entire court took up the room. The late evening sun slanted warmly across the feast laid out for them — platters of seasoned vegetables, bowls of fresh fruit, loaves of bread next to yellow squares of butter, flakey pastries, red and purple jams, several bottles of wine, and what looked to Emma like a large roast goose.

"How many people are going to be at this dinner?" she asked in surprise.

"Just us," Belle replied.

Rumple and Bae arrived a few minutes later, a contentious air about them. The petulant look on Bae's face suggested that they had been arguing. It deepened when he noticed Emma standing at the end of the table.

Rumple swept past her. "Wonderful. You're already here." He sat down with a flourish. "Let's eat!"

Despite Belle's best efforts at maintaining a cheerful atmosphere and the excellent food, the heavy mood refused to lift. Bae only grunted and grumbled in response to his father. Emma couldn't help but observe the dynamic between the two of them with interest. For all of his power, Rumplestiltskin stood helpless as any parent in the face of his recalcitrant son, bound by his love as he tried time and time again to engage. Baelfire, however, refused to bend. He brooded and moped, brows drawn, shoulders hunched.

With everyone scraping at their plates in silence, Belle suddenly dropped her napkin onto the table and scooted her chair back. "That was delicious," she said, full of sweetness. "Bae, do you think you could take Emma back so that I can clean up here?"

Rumple shot her a look — clearly she'd overstepped — but when Bae perked up, he relaxed back into his chair.

"Sure. Come on, Emma."

Like getting walked home at the end of a date, Emma thought, only instead of heading back home for the night, her company was escorting her to a prison cell.

"Sorry about that," he said once the doors closed behind them.

"Things between you and your father seem…" Emma trailed off, searching for a good word.

"Messed up? Yeah. You could say that."

"Then why are you still here?"

Obviously he was allowed to leave. He'd attended her coming-of-age ball, after all.

Baelfire shrugged. "I guess I keep thinking that maybe someday we can get back to the way things used to be. Back before he became the Dark One."

"He hasn't always been like this?"

"No. It was shortly after my mom…" Bae's mouth drew into a tight smile. "When my father got drafted into the Ogre Wars, he broke his own leg rather than go, and the whole village knew it was no accident. He got labeled a coward. And my mom…left. Wasn't long after that papa came home with new powers."

Which he'd apparently used to transform himself from the village coward into the region's most powerful lord. Emma wondered how he'd come by his magic and whether there were any weaknesses associated with it.

"From what I've heard, your father is the only thing keeping the ogres from overrunning this land," she said.

Bae laughed. "So they say. I think I'd risk the ogres to have him back the way he used to be."

"You'd give up all this wealth? Your safety?"

He shrugged.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "There are people I'd give up a lot for, too. People I care about."

"Yeah. I know, Emma. You didn't choose to be here. I get that. But…" He forked a hand through his hair and looked at her, his eyes big and brown and sad. "Would it be so bad? Staying here with me?"

Emma cringed inside, not sure how to answer without hurting his feelings or telling him about Killian.

"It's not about you," she finally said. "I have a life. A family. A kingdom. I want to get back to it."

Baelfire seemed like a nice enough man. Over time, she could probably come to like him. But never love him. And eventually she'd come to resent him just as much as he resented his father. From the way his shoulders slumped, she knew he'd gotten her point.

As they approached her cell, turning down a long set of chilly, dark stairs that led out of the plush mansion and into the dungeon below, Baelfire reached out and grabbed her arm.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he said, his fingers tightening. "I swear. Okay? Just…trust me."

Emma wished she could.

* * *

Baelfire couldn't remember the last time he had deliberately sought out his father. Most of the time, he went out of his way to avoid the man, choosing to be out of the house as much as possible and sticking to parts of the estate that no one else frequented the rest of the time. He'd worked hard to carve out an existence for himself that made having the Dark One as an over-protective parent bearable. He'd learned to be careful who he associated with and to avoid having close relationships that might bring someone into harm's way — a lesson he'd learned as a child when his father, newly turned, had murdered their maid after she'd overheard him speaking of the dagger that held his magical power.

Now he found himself in a place he'd never wanted to be — between his father and someone he cared about.

It had been a kind of miracle that he'd gone to Emma's coming-of-age ball in the first place. Although his status as a powerful nobleman's son earned him plenty of invitations, he turned most of them down. Emma's had come at a moment when he'd desperately needed to get away, and he hadn't thought there'd be much harm in attending.

Then he saw the fair princess for himself.

She'd been only sixteen at the time — and he several years her senior at twenty one. Already, she'd blossomed into great beauty, so full of sunshine and life that he hadn't been able to help but fall half in love.

After that, he hadn't expected to see her again.

Not until she showed up in his father's dungeon, anyway.

He found Rumplestiltskin sitting at the spinning wheel in the library, his feet working the treadles in a rhythmic beat. The thin string of fiber turned to gold as it slipped through his fingers, glinting a deep, dandelion yellow.

Rumple didn't look at him until he cleared his throat. When Rumple turned and saw Bae, his foot slipped off the treadle, disrupting the smooth motion of the machine.

No doubt, he'd been expecting Belle.

"Son?"

Bae shoved his hands into his pockets. "We need to talk."

"About the girl?" Rumple guessed.

"About  _Emma_ ," he repeated. "You have to let her go."

"And why do I have to do that?"

"Because I don't want her." At his father's doubtful look, he added, "I don't love her."

Rumple scoffed and turned back to his spinning wheel. "You will. Give it time."

"Is this really what you think I want?" Bae asked, angry now. "To have a woman held captive until she learns to love me? You think that's the only way I can find someone? You're wrong. I'm not you, papa."

Rumple's whole body froze. "What did you say?"

Bae stood straight and stiff. "She's not Belle. And I'm not you. This won't work."

Abandoning the spinning wheel, Rumple got up and walked across the room toward him. Not for the first time, Bae looked into his gold, reptilian eyes and felt a hot lurch of fear. It got harder and harder as the years passed to see the man he'd loved as a child — flawed and cowardly, but  _human_.

"You want me to just…let her leave?" he asked as if he found the idea itself baffling. "Did she say something to you? Something about—"

"She didn't have to say anything. I don't want her. Take her back to her family."

Rumple crossed his arms. "I can't."

"Why not?"

He waved Bae's protests away. "What does it matter? You don't want her, you shouldn't care what becomes of her."

" _Papa…_ " Bae said, his voice low, not sure whether he was warning his father or pleading with him.

"I had her heart in my hand," Rumple explained, holding up a fist, "and I couldn't pull it out."

"You had second thoughts?" Bae asked, hoping perhaps against all odds some better nature had shined through.

"No. I mean, I  _couldn't_  pull it out. That's never happened before." Rumple got a thoughtful look on his face. "She's got power, son. Something I don't understand yet…"

Power. Of course. It shouldn't have surprised him. Everything with his father had been about power for a long time now. As long as he suspected Emma might have some that he could manipulate, take, or use to his advantage, he'd never let her go. She was another token for his vault. More fuel for his addiction.

"I don't think she even knows she possesses it," Rumple continued, turning to pace the room, as blind to his son's feelings as ever. He muttered to himself and glanced up at his books, wondering aloud at the source of the princess's magic.

Baelfire turned on his heel and left.

He didn't need to hear anymore.

Like so many things in their lives together, this was no longer about him and his happiness. It was about magic. And Baelfire was tired of it. Sick of coming second to the curse that had taken hold of his once beloved papa.

_It's time you took control of your own life_ , he told himself.

He knew of only one way to do that.

Mind made up, he set off, a single purpose driving him.

He needed to find the Dark One's dagger.

* * *

With little else to do in the castle dungeon, Killian spent much of his time longing for a drink of rum to help dull the ache in his wrist and the even sharper pain in his heart. Sleep proved his only escape. In dreams, he always found his way back to the moments before Rumplestiltskin had arrived on his ship. He was wrapped up in just such a dream, his fingers slipping through Emma's hair as he kissed her, when a loud, metallic clang broke through the gauzy comfort of his thoughts, startling him back into wakefulness.

Footsteps sounded down the empty corridors of the dungeon — not just those of one man, but many.

Not Lancelot come to check on him then. Or the king come to rehash their earlier conversation.

Perhaps, he thought with a twinge of dread, the palace guards were coming to take him away for his trial and summary execution.

He stood up, clasping his bandaged arm to his chest.

"Captain?" a familiar voice called out. "You down here, Captain?"

Killian couldn't believe it.

" _Smee_?"

Five of his crew came to a stop in front of his cell, all of them heavily armed. Smee put away his sword long enough to draw out a ring of keys. "Thank the gods. We feared you'd already been executed. It's good to see you alive, Sir."

"It's good to be alive."

"We don't have time to chat," Ed whispered harshly. "Hurry up!"

Smee struggled to find the correct key to fit the lock, having to try several before one finally slid home.

"How did you get in here?" Killian asked, reaching out for the sword offered to him as the cell door swung open.

"A little bit of liquor and a lot of gold," Ed replied. "We'd have been here sooner, but we had to flee with the  _Roger_. She's anchored half a day's ride from here. No telling how long she'll be safe there before someone discovers her though. Come on. We've got to get going."

"Right." Killian tested the weight of the sword in his hand. "Lead the way."

Smee took point, guiding the six of them up, out of the dungeon — he had the uncanny skills of a rat at getting in and out of places. They passed quietly into the main halls of the castle, ducking around corners and hiding in shadows so as not to be noticed. Smee took them on a circuitous route, through dark, little used corridors and empty common rooms lit only by the light of the moon shining in through the high windows.

At length, they paused in a small chamber with a window overlooking the front gate.

"We wait here until the guard changes," Smee said and settled on the floor against the wall.

"How long will that be?" Killian asked.

Ed glanced out the window at the sky, figuring the time. "Not long. We bribed the next shift to let us by."

They sat in silence. When a palace servant walked by, Killian tensed, but the lad didn't even glance in their direction, the darkness of the room obscuring them from sight. After that, he relaxed, and as his guard dropped, the realization that he might actually make it out of the castle alive began to sink in.

So much needed done. Where to begin?

He'd have to return to the  _Jolly Roger_ , first and foremost. After that…

Footsteps in the hall beyond the darkened room alerted him once more. All eyes focused in on the open doorway as the person neared, not slowing, and swept past without bothering to look.

Killian would have let out a sigh of relief had he not recognized the figure.

_Emma_.

Or…Regina. The impostor.

She was dressed in full princess regalia — even this late at night — with a silvery gown, white cloak, and her blonde hair hanging down her back in loose ringlets. Under one arm, she cradled a plain wooden box. She moved with swift purpose and confidence — not Emma's strong, easy grace, but a well-practiced panache.

Before he had the chance to think better of it, Killian was up on his feet, pain and rage propelling him through the door. A tug on his arm and harsh whispers attempted to hold him back. He paid attention to none of it.

Sword bared, body trembling, he strode after her.

Utterly secure in her duplicitousness, she didn't notice him until he grabbed her by the arm. He tugged, forcing her around, and found her face lit with equal parts surprise and alarm. The latter instantly vaporized when their eyes met and she recognized her assailant.

"Hello,  _Regina_ ," Killian hissed.

"Oh, Captain," she replied, the voice Emma's but the tone all Evil Queen. "Have you lost your mind now in addition to your hand?"

"Don't toy with me." He shoved her back a step and brought the point of his sword up to rest just under her breast. A bit of beading caught on the blade and came loose as she breathed. "I know exactly who you are."

"I'm sure you thought the same thing when we were on your ship together," she said with a grin and leaned ever-so-slightly into his weapon. "I think you'll find that I'm full of surprises."

Killian could feel his heart punching against his ribs and a warm flush spread across his cheeks. A tumultuous storm of rage and passion and pain stirred in his stomach. Even though he knew this woman was not Emma, the illusion was flawless. Her green eyes stared up at him with the same unflinching defiance he recognized from their first few days together on board the  _Jolly Roger_. At the hollow of her throat, her pulse flickered, right where he'd once loved to kiss. Her hair brushed against his fingers the way it had so many times before. But this  _wasn't_  Emma, he reminded himself. This was Regina — the person he had dedicated his life to destroying.

"You may find some surprises in me as well, your Majesty," Killian growled and advanced on her, cornering her against the wall. With his sword at her heart, she had no choice but to give ground.

"What are you going to do?" she taunted. "Kill me?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

Her eyes flicked down to the sword and back up at him. "You'd slay a princess in her own castle?"

"You're not the princess."

"Maybe not," she admitted. "But nobody else knows that. Do they? You'd never make it out of this kingdom alive."

"It would be my pleasure to perish if it meant putting an end to you…if it meant vengeance for my brother."

Her tongue — Emma's tongue — ran across her bottom lip. "But what about your love? If you're dead, who will save poor Emma?"

Killian clenched the hilt of his sword.

"Even now, she's with the Dark One," Regina continued. "You may already be too late to save her."

"What does he want with her?"

"I never bothered to ask. But if I had to place bets, I'd say nothing good. He didn't get the name  _the Dark One_  for nothing. He knows no mercy. Just look at what he did to you."

Behind him, Killian heard a shuffling — his men, watching their exchange. Smee whispered across the hallway, "Captain. We have to go."

"In a moment, Mister Smee. I'm almost done here."

Killian pushed his sword forward, able to feel the resistance of Regina's dress and chest underneath. One thrust, and he'd be done with her. His bloody quest behind him. He'd never been so close before. Years of anticipation coiled within him, begging him to follow through. But one look at her stilled his hand. She looked so like the woman he loved. Could he bring himself to harm her? To watch her die while wearing Emma's face? He wasn't sure.

"Captain," Smee whispered again, more urgently this time. "The guards are changing. If you want to get out of here, then we have to go.  _Now._ "

Regina's mouth parted with delight.

"Oh dear. Sounds like you have a choice to make," she said, her voice low, meant only for him. "What's it going to be, Killian? Love? Or revenge?"


	12. Which is About Choice

Alla il Alla! Vengeance swells the cry—  
Shame mounts to rage that must atone or die!  
And flame for flame and blood for blood must tell.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 12: Which is About Choice

Killian stood with the edge of his sword resting perfectly between two of the Evil Queen's ribs, a second away from exacting his revenge…and paralyzed with indecision.

Liam's ghost called to him from beyond the grave, demanding vengeance. With vivid, horrible clarity, Killian recalled the way his brother had crumpled lifeless to the ground, and the sound his heart had made — like splintering glass — as it turned to dust in the queen's grasp. Shaken, he glanced down to where she clutched a small, wooden box at her side, expecting to see the very instrument of his brother's destruction.

Instead, he found Emma's hands.

Hands that soothed rather than hurt.

Hands that had brought him nothing but peace and pleasure.

 _It's not real_ , he reminded himself.  _It's just an illusion. Slay her and be done with it._

She laughed, drawing his gaze back up to her face.

"So…this is what has become of the fierce pirate captain?" Her mouth turned down with disdain. " _Pathetic_. Stop wasting my time."

An orange ball of fire flared to life in front of him.

Killian barely managed to duck out of the way in time.

His sword lost contact as the flame passed by his head, heat licking his cheek. As he regained his balance, he thrust. But his blade met only air. Regina had already pivoted away.

She broke into a run, her heels striking loudly against the floor. Beyond her, the fireball she'd hurled at him burst against the wall into a hundred tiny sparks that spread along the mortar joints, tracing a sizzling grid across the stone.

Someone grabbed his arm and pulled. "Captain!"

_Smee._

"She'll raise the alarm, sir. We have to get out of here while we still can."

Mouth dry, Killian nodded. Chasing after Regina wouldn't get him anywhere except back in the dungeon. There'd be plenty of time to figure out what to do next once his men were free of the castle.

"Aye. Let's go."

Stealth discarded in favor of speed, they sprinted headlong down the corridor, down a set of winding stairs, and out into the warm, moonlit night.

The fresh air hit Killian like a splash of cool water, lifting the fog of confusion and despair that had settled on him in the dungeon. His focus renewed, he took quick stock of the castle courtyard. A spattering of palace staff milled about, packing away the last of the day's business before heading to bed. The gates stood open, thanks either to good timing or bribery (Killian didn't care which). The guards on either side stood with their backs turned, as promised.

Past the gates, the lights of the city lit up the horizon.

A shout rang out.

"Guards! Seize them!"

Regina stood on a balcony above with Lancelot at her side.

 _Bloody hell_ , she was fast.

The two men at the gates turned and drew their swords. Outnumbered three to one, the poor sods didn't stand much of a chance and from the misgiving written clearly on their faces, Killian guessed they knew it. Adrenaline drove him forward, his sword held high, rage lending him momentum.

"Lower the gates!" Lancelot yelled. "Box them in!"

Along the edge of the castle wall, more men scrambled into action, rushing to lower the castle's two gates. Killian would have to get past both - underneath the first, through a long, tunnel-like entryway, and past the outer portcullis in order to escape. If he got trapped in between…

"No quarter!" Killian yelled and barreled into the guards.

The rest of his crew followed in a tangle of swords, fists, and scuffling boots. Both guards crumpled swiftly under the onslaught.

A dull thud made Killian glance at the man next to him — Skylights, he realized — who suddenly jerked and cried out.

Skylights stumbled forward and fell, the fletched end of an arrow shaft sticking out of his back. Killian moved to catch him, forgetting for a moment about the loss of his left hand, and nearly ended up dropping the poor man when a flash of agony tore up his arm, leaving him breathless.

He blinked hard, willing the blurry edges of his vision to focus, and looked over his shoulder in time to see Lancelot nocking a fresh arrow in his bow.

"Run!" Smee yelled.

Skylights groaned as Killian dragged him along.

Above them, the iron portcullis trembled and squealed.

Lancelot's second arrow found its way home as they bolted into the passageway — Ed this time. He stumbled once, thrown off by the impact as it buried itself deep in his shoulder, but he quickly regained his footing and kept running.

The castle's outer gate loomed just ahead. A few more seconds, and they'd be free…

"Come on," he urged the flagging Skylights. "Keep your wits about you."

Skylights tried to reply, but his breath came out raspy and wet.

 _Damn it all_.

He wasn't going to make it.

Killian's heart twisted.

"Sorry about this, mate."

The rest of his crew shot ahead as he paused long enough to unsling Skylights's arm from around his neck. Skylights's fingers tangled weakly in Killian's shirt as he lowered the injured man to the ground. His face looked deathly pale in the moonlight, blood spatter along his lips and chin the only source of color.

"You'll be alright," Killian promised, not at all certain he was telling the truth.

There was no more time.

He leapt over his fallen comrade and ran, not daring to look back as he darted underneath the portcullis. It slammed down behind him with a terrible clang, so close that he felt the ground under his feet tremble with the impact.

Ahead, his men had paused to see if he'd make it through. Now they looked at him expectantly, wanting orders.

"Into the city," he said, gesturing with his sword.

If anyone had misgivings about leaving Skylights behind, no one said so as they fled.

Killian knew they would only have a short head start on Lancelot and his knights. It wouldn't be easy to evade them in their own city, but it was the only option. Already, shouts from beyond the castle walls echoed into the night.

Later, he assured himself.

Later he'd have time to think. Time to plan. To decide.

Right now, he just needed to survive.

* * *

The Huntsman had no idea what he was doing.

 _You should run_ , he told himself.  _You should turn and vanish into the forest where she will never find you._

He had failed the Evil Queen. He knew his punishment would be death. But there was hope. When he'd arrived in the royal city, ready to intercept the ship carrying Princess Emma, he had been surprised to find her already returned to the castle. For a full afternoon, he had probed about for more information, astonished that the pirate had somehow made the trip so quickly. When he'd learned that Emma had been back for quite some time, it was easy enough to put two and two together.

Regina — or someone under her employ — had taken Emma's place.

More importantly, it meant that she was currently too occupied with whatever evil scheme she had brewing in the castle to have time to deal with him.

He needed to get out of her reach before it was too late.

For some reason though, he'd lingered, waiting until the  _Jolly Roger_  finally sailed into the harbor.

It was then that he'd seen something incredible. Something he could still scarcely believe.

The horse underneath him picked its head up and huffed, having caught a whiff of something on the breeze. The huntsman reined his mount in and waited, all of his senses primed, the fingers of his right hand brushing across the smooth curve of his hunting bow.

He was deep in ogre territory.

The horse tossed its head and swiveled its ears about, searching.

"Steady," he murmured.

He heard nothing but the whisper of the wind through the leaves, the chatter of birds, and the leather creak of his saddle. At length, the horse relaxed, and so did he.

 _A wolf, perhaps_ , he thought.  _Or a bear_. Ogres weren't known for their stealth.

Yet again, he wondered what the hell he was doing and what he hoped to accomplish.

He had been about to launch his own ambush on the  _Jolly Roger_  when the strange creature he now knew called himself the Dark One had appeared on the deck of the ship. He knew better than to get involved with magic, so he'd hung back and watched. The princess had surprised him. Beautiful, brash, and full of courage, she'd gone toe to toe with the dark wizard before the man transformed her into a swan and vanished. In the stillness that followed, the image of her dissolving away in a cloud of magic had burned into his brain. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

Seeing her had made him feel… _something_.

Which was more than he could say for anything in a very long time.

That  _something_  drew him north, into the Dark One's domain.

He wasn't sure what he meant to do once he got there.

See his mission through? Strike a deal with the Dark One for protection from Regina?

Chances were good that he'd simply get himself killed by ogres on the way.

Still, he felt compelled.

He nudged his horse forward again. Many days of hard travel through difficult territory remained. The Dark One's home was surrounded on all sides by thick swaths of untamed forest ripe with danger.

The horse's hooves crunched against leaves, pine needles, and dry grass as they got moving once more.

He'd decide what to done once —  _if_  — he got there.

* * *

David drew his cloak around himself to hide his poor state of dress as he rushed down the castle corridor. Snow strode beside him, her hair mussed and a heavy gown pulled on over top of her nightdress, the lacy collar of which lay exposed at her throat. They had been asleep for only a couple of hours when one of their knights roused them with urgent news of the pirate's escape.

The knight trailed a healthy distance behind them now, obviously uncomfortable with having disrupted them in their chambers.

"Has anyone checked on Emma?" Snow asked him.

"Yes. She's fine. She—"

They came around a corner and nearly ran headlong into Lancelot. He flinched at seeing them and David noticed a flash of contrition before his usual steely composure slipped back into place.

"I was just coming to find you, Your Majesties," he said with a bow. He dismissed the knight accompanying them and swallowed hard before continuing. "I am deeply grieved to have let the two of you down this night."

"Lancelot…" Snow reached out to touch his arm. "This wasn't your fault. The pirate was not your responsibility."

"No. But Emma's welfare is."

David's whole body flushed with alarm. "Your knight just told us that Emma was fine…"

"She is," Lancelot assured them. "But only thanks to her own quick thinking. It appears that after he escaped, Captain Jones found and confronted her. Emma managed to get away and find me. But not in time to prevent the scoundrel's escape."

"Where is she now?" Snow asked. "I'd like to talk to her. Make sure she's okay."

"I just dropped her off in her room."

Snow turned to David. He waved away her words before she could speak them. "Go. I've got this. Emma needs you."

She smiled, squeezed his hand, and left.

David turned back to his knight. "If Emma wasn't in her room when Jones found her, then where was she?"

"A corridor in the south wing. Near the gatehouse."

"What was she doing there?"

Lancelot cocked his head to the side. "I didn't ask, Your Majesty."

"Take me there. Show me where it happened."

As they walked, David tried not to examine his motivations. He didn't want to admit to himself that he harbored any doubts about his daughter, that he was curious what she'd been doing up and in that part of the castle at night. She had no real reason to visit the gatehouse unless she meant to leave. And little of interest to her existed between there and her chamber, just a closed-off oubliette that hadn't seen an inmate since his father's reign, as well as the casemate and undercroft — mere store rooms: the former used to house artillery and defensive arms, the latter a miscellany of personal family items.

They reached an empty stretch of hallway just outside the undercroft and Lancelot stopped.

David saw no signs of a struggle except for a blackened mark along the wall. Curious, he walked up to it and dragged one finger through the soot. The stone felt warm and sent a tingle up his arm. A sharp, acrid scent turned his stomach. He recognized it immediately from long ago when he'd helped Snow escape Regina's kingdom into his own.

_Magic._

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"I suspect the pirates bribed the gate guards to let them in," Lancelot replied, misunderstanding his question. "We did manage to capture one of them during the escape, but it is not clear yet whether he will survive. If he pulls through, we may be able to get more answers."

"Not that." David gestured to the wall. "I meant  _this_."

Lancelot glanced at the mark.

"According to Emma's account, she fended Jones off by swinging a torch at him. It must have struck the wall."

"A torch…" David nodded and clasped his hands. After a moment, he asked, "Do you believe her?"

Lancelot's mouth fell open. "I…I don't…"

David waved his hand, swatting the question away. "Nevermind. Tell me more about the man we caught. He's badly injured?"

"Yes. He's being tended to now in one of the guest rooms near the gate — the doctor didn't think we should move him as far as the dungeon."

"Okay. I'm going to go see how he's doing. In the meantime, prepare my horse. I'd like to join in the hunt for Captain Jones personally."

Lancelot nodded and left. With one last, concerned glance at the scorch mark on the wall, David did as well. His doubts weighed heavily on him as he walked — traitorous thoughts that left him flushed with guilt. What kind of father was he? Letting the man who had abducted and abused his little girl escape? Believing, even for a second, a single word he had to say? Emma deserved better.

Full of self-contempt, all the more heightened by the cloying scent of witchcraft he could not seem to escape, he made a stop in his own chamber to get dressed properly before heading to the guest room where the injured pirate lay.

Several members of the palace staff stood crowded around a large, four-poster bed, including Red and her granny, whose stalwart nature made her an ideal nursemaid. Bloodied linens sat piled in a wash basin on the nightstand. The whole room reeked of antiseptic and healing herbs. Red raised her eyes from the patient long enough to meet David's gaze, then gestured at the others before stepping around the end of the bed to meet him.

"Is he awake?" David asked.

"Yes. But he's very weak." Red wiped her hands on the apron tied over her skirt. "The arrow caused his lung to collapse. We managed to get him breathing normally again, but if it happens a second time, he probably won't survive."

"So don't aggravate him," Granny added without bothering to look over her shoulder, "unless you want to kill him."

David stepped up to the bed.

The pirate was young — near Emma's age — and looked frail as an autumn leaf in the oversized bed. He had a tattoo of a bird on one shoulder, a scar on the back of his hand, and a knotty bump on the bridge of his nose where it had once been broken. Blinking slowly, he looked up at the king standing over his bed.

All of the bluster within David melted away.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Skylights."

"You're part of Captain Jones's crew?"

"Aye. And you must be…" — he had to pause to take a breath — "…the king."

David nodded. "I've come to ask you some questions."

"I ain't givin' up my captain."

"Your loyalty is admirable." David crossed his arms. "Does it go both ways? Will your captain stick around and try to rescue you, too?"

Skylights sent David a grim smile. "Rescue? I'm doin' just fine. Got this…nice room…all to myself." Even this little amount of conversation was leaving him out of breath. He shifted in the bed and winced, his hand coming up to brush across the bandages around his chest. "Suppose he's got better things to do anyway."

"Such as?"

"Rescue Emma. He's a touch fonder…of her than he is…of me."

David took in a sharp breath at the mention of Emma, at the implication that she and the pirate were anything but enemies. Did Skylights's loyalty to Jones extend even to his strange story about Emma? It didn't surprise David that one of his crew might lie for the man. Only…he couldn't fathom  _why_. Why try to convince everyone of this? Skylights wasn't well enough to hope that he might be let free, and his captain had already escaped. Why not drop the fabrication in favor of the truth?

The young pirate must have noted David's puzzlement, because he laughed, sucked in a pained breath, and said, "Don't tell me that witch…has you fooled. Don't you know…your own daughter?"

Aggravated, David turned away.

Red stood a few feet behind him, her eyebrows raised.

"Keep an eye on him," David said, pointedly ignoring the questioning look on her face. He didn't have answers anyway — not with his doubts redoubled and his heart painfully conflicted.

On edge, he left, hoping to bid Snow and Emma farewell before heading off to join the hunt with Lancelot. When he got to Emma's room, neither were there. After some searching through several of Emma's most frequent haunts, he followed the sound of raised voices and found her talking to a group of knights.

"Are you questioning my authority?" Her voice was low and threatening.

"No, Your Highness."

"Then get out there and find that low-life who abducted me!"

"We have orders, Highness…"

"You have new orders now. Mine."

David walked into the room. Emma stood with her back to the door and didn't immediately notice him enter, but the knights did. All five looked at him with intense relief.

At their reaction, Emma turned. Her intimidating posture fell when she saw him, but rather than the shame he had expected, a flicker of wariness crossed her face.

"What's going on here?" he asked, his tone more that of a reprimanding father than a king.

Emma planted one hand on her hip. "Why isn't everyone out tracking down the pirate?"

"Some have to stay here to protect the castle."

"From what? The ogres aren't a threat to the city right now."

David looked past her to the knights and waved them away. "Back to your duties."

They didn't need to see this.

They bowed their heads and strode past him, out the door. Emma watched them go, her jaw clenching and her fingers digging into her hip with frustration. David reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then thought better of it and withdrew when she glared at him.

"You  _know_  what he did to me," she said.

"Lancelot is coordinating the search. They'll find him."

Emma rolled her eyes and huffed. "I hope you can understand why I have my doubts. These are the same idiots who let him escape to begin with."

"They'll find him," David repeated.

"I won't have him go unpunished. Once he's found, I want him tried without delay."

He had never seen Emma filled with such venom.

His daughter had never spoken to  _anyone_  the way she'd been digging into his knights. She didn't carry herself with such haughty disdain for the rest of the world. She didn't shy away from violence, but she didn't relish in it either.

Killian Jones was right…this was not  _his daughter_.

But replaced by someone else? He stared at her, trying to find something that might tell him the truth. A freckle out of place. Or a slightly different shade to her eyes.

At his close scrutiny, Emma's whole demeanor changed. She softened and relaxed, then reached out to loop her arm through his. "I just want it all to be over."

He wanted to believe her.

Wanted to so badly.

But he couldn't.

Guilt tore at him.

How could he doubt her like this? How could he believe the word of pirates — criminals and thieves — over his own flesh and blood? Maybe it was just easier to believe that Emma wasn't herself than it was to admit that the close bond they had always enjoyed could be broken.

"You'll never have to see Killian Jones again," he vowed, hoping it might make him feel better. "I'll see to it."

Emma smiled, somehow managing to look more cruel than warm. "Thank you…" She paused, then added, " _Dad_."

He shooed her along past him. "Last I saw, your mother was looking for you. You should go find her. She'll probably make you a cup of hot chocolate."

"I'm afraid this will take more than hot chocolate."

"Rum, then."

Emma made a face. "I don't do rum."

"Since when?"

She missed a step but recovered quickly. "Since I was held prisoner by a man with a particular predilection for it."

With that, she left, leaving David not sure what to think.

At a loss, he went to the stables. As requested, Lancelot had prepared his horse — a handsome, dapple gray charger. The stallion snorted and pawed the ground with his front hoof when he saw David approaching. Lancelot's calm, reassuring hand settled the beast once more.

"Is everything alright, Highness?" Lancelot asked over the horse's head, his fingers seeking out a sweet spot behind its ears. "You look troubled."

"No, everything is…" He stopped himself, took a long look at his most trusted knight, and decided to throw caution to the wind. His own thoughts had grown too cloudy. He needed a second opinion. "Actually, I just found Emma yelling at some of your men, ordering them out to track down Jones. I've never heard her use that tone before. She sounded like…" He blew out a long breath. "She sounded like  _Regina_."

"She's just lashing out. It's normal."

"She hasn't been herself since she got back. We've all noticed. I'm sure you have as well."

Lancelot merely shrugged.

"Jones said something to me when I went to see him in the dungeon. He said that Emma was with him when he arrived in the harbor. He says the Emma who came home to us is a fake." Lancelot's mouth opened to reply, but David cut him off, quick to add, "I'm not saying I believe him! But…I mean…do you think it's possible? That maybe she seems so different because she  _is_?"

Lancelot spoke slowly, his words seeming carefully chosen: "Emma's capture was a stressful time for all of us. Once things settle down, I am certain you will reconnect as a family and everything will fall back into place."

"You're right." David nodded and smiled, though he felt just as torn as he had before. "Let's go."

He climbed up into the saddle and nudged his horse into a trot. The clap of its hooves against the stone courtyard helped to focus him, a metronome by which to measure his thoughts. His next step, at least, he knew for certain.

 _Find Jones_.

After that, he had a strange feeling everything else would become clear.

* * *

At the risk of being far too predictable, Killian sought refuge in the surest place he knew — the sea. It had been close to midnight when he and his men reached the docks. Ed had maintained the whole way that the arrow sticking out of his shoulder was naught but a flesh wound, but the pallor to his cheeks and the trembling of his hands told another story. It needed attention, or Killian knew he'd collapse long before they got back to the  _Jolly Roger_.

They'd crouched behind some shipping crates and, through their finely honed pirating skills, quickly selected their target — a merchantman that was not so large they'd end up outnumbered by the crew, but big enough to give them space in which to hide. As a plus, Killian knew that most merchant ships of this size engaged in a fair amount of rum running to the dry, war-ravaged fronts to the far north and so would likely have at least one well-concealed smuggling compartment.

Upon boarding, they found the ship under the guard of three men — two deck hands and the ship's boatswain — all three of whom had been drinking. It took little more than a wave of the sword and a few harsh words to enlist their assistance.

Killian sat perched on the edge of a bed across from Ed in the crew's quarters. Smee and Turley had not yet returned with a doctor, so Lancelot's arrow still stuck out the back of the man's shoulder. He slumped sideways, leaning on his good arm, his eyes half shut, breathing deep and slow.

"Stick with me, old man," Killian said gently.

Ed coughed out a laugh and shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. Though I do kinda wish I'd saved one of those damned fainting fish stingers. Going to hurt like hell getting this blasted thing pulled out."

"I'd offer you rum, except…"

Ed waved a hand. "No problem. I've got some."

He freed a flask from his belt with some effort, then took a long swig. When Ed offered Killian a drink, he shook his head.

"You need it more than me, mate."

"I don't know about that." Ed pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands. "Back at the castle…I know that couldn't have been the real Emma. Was it…?"

"The Evil Queen. Aye."

"What's she doing here?"

Killian frowned. "I don't know."

Doubtless, it was something nefarious. Emma's entire family — if not her entire kingdom — was in danger. But Killian found that a surprisingly feeble concern when weighed against Emma's well-being.

The sound of footsteps above made them both go still and silent, tension filling the room like fog, until Killian made out the sound of Smee's voice. He pushed open the door a second later, Turley and the doctor in tow. The latter looked as if he'd been plucked straight from his bed. He wore a red dressing gown over white pants that cut off just above his ankles and leather shoes with gold tassels.

He nodded to Killian. "Your arm is healing well, I trust?"

Ignoring the question, Killian stood up and walked to Smee. "Are you certain no one saw you?"

"As sure as I can be, Captain."

"Good." He turned to the doctor — Victor, he recalled. "Get to work and be swift. We can't tarry here much longer."

Victor swung his bag of medical supplies up over his shoulder and struck a surprisingly brazen pose. "The last time I helped you lot out, the king's guards nearly knocked down my door. Why should I do it again?"

Killian gestured to Turley, who drew a knife and held it out toward the doctor.

"Because…this is me asking nicely."

One more glance at the edge of Turley's blade was enough to convince him.

Killian sent Smee back up on deck to keep an eye out for trouble while Victor got to work. Even with his obvious proficiency, his hands moving quick and sure, the process of extracting the arrow and stitching the wound took far longer than Killian would have liked. He knew they didn't have long before either the king's men arrived to search the ship or the rest of the crew returned to reclaim her.

"Have you considered a prosthesis?" the doctor asked.

Killian turned to find the man looking at him appraisingly over Ed's shoulder.

"Sorry?"

"Something to replace your hand." He turned his attention back to his work, but continued without missing a beat. "I have some gear to rig one up back at my house. It wouldn't take long to retrieve it once we're done here."

Killian eyed him, suspicious at this helpful turn. "I'll figure something out on my own."

Victor shrugged. "Just trying to be pleasant."

"What'd be  _pleasant_ ," Ed said with a grumble, "is if you finished sewing up the godsdamned hole in my back. What in blazes is taking so long?"

"Almost done," the doctor assured him.

A few minutes later, Victor pulled out some ointment and bandages, much to Ed's relief. The heady mixture of pain and rum had left him glassy eyed. He sagged against the wall and had to be reminded twice to put his shirt back on when the doctor finished with him.

"Don't you look at me like that," Ed said when he noticed Killian's gaze on him.

"Like what?"

"Like you're going to have to leave me behind. I ain't going to slow you down any. Just…give me a minute."

Killian didn't have the chance to respond before shouts from above captured all of their attention.

"Knights," Ed whispered. "Here to search the ship."

Killian nodded. "We have to get hidden. Now. That means you, too, Doctor."

Smee and the others weren't likely to be recognized. But both Killian and the doctor would be known to the king's men, and Ed's wound identified him better than any wanted poster.

For a second, Victor looked like he might call out for help, his posture tense, his mouth open a crack. When Killian drew his sword, the doctor fell into line. They scrambled down into a hidden compartment underneath the floor, sandwiched in between the crew quarters and the cargo hold beneath. It was only a few feet high — big enough to wedge barrel of rum on end inside — so they had to crouch. Ed winced as he bent over, his shoulder pressed into Victor who they kept between them.

Killian lowered the hatch above them, sealing out the light and seemingly most of the air. In the hot, oppressive space, they waited and listened as the knights searched the ship.

Footsteps entered the room above.

"We have reports that a man who associated with Captain Jones was seen heading this way," someone said. "A doctor named Victor Whale."

"Never heard of him," Smee replied. "But I have heard of Captain Jones. And I can tell you…" he chuckled, "if we'd seen him, we'd have run! There isn't another pirate more feared on all the seas."

 _Overselling it a bit there, Mister Smee_ , Killian thought, though a smile tugged at his lips.

Footsteps walked right over top of them, the floorboards creaking as the person paused. For an interminable moment, nothing happened, and in the silence Killian waited for their hiding space to be uncovered. Surely a few of the king's men knew enough to look for smuggling compartments on merchant ships…

Thankfully, whoever had tracked them here was not so smart. The heavy steps started once again for the door. "Thank you for your time," the knight said. "You may want to stay out of the city for a while. Lay low. There's going to be a lot of soldiers about until we have Jones back in custody."

"They're really pulling out all the stops to get this guy, huh?" Smee said. "They plan to scour the whole city?"

"Building by building if need be. I hear even the king himself is out on the hunt."

The two left.

Killian waited to be sure the knight was gone before daring to push open the lid to their compartment. A rush of cool, clear air met him. He sighed gratefully. Next to him, Victor brushed himself off and straightened the belt on his dressing down.

"That was close," Ed said.

"Aye. We need to get moving before the whole city locks down."

Killian started for the door. Victor and Ed followed.

"What about me?" the doctor asked.

"You're free to go," Killian replied.

"Just like that? You're not worried I might rat you out to the king's knights?"

Killian shrugged. "We won't be here for them to find. There's nothing useful you'd be able to tell them."

Above deck, he shucked off his coat so as to be less conspicuous and turned a slow circle, surveying the playing field and assessing his options. The sun would be up soon, and with it their chances of escape would dwindle even more. He glanced behind him, at the open sea, tempted to retreat to the place he felt most comfortable. But already he could make out the lights from several large ships that had weighed anchor in the deeper water further out. It would be near impossible to get out of the narrow, busy harbor without getting blown to bits by one of them. They'd have to do it overland.

"Mister Smee."

Smee scurried to his side, having just escorted the doctor off the ship. "Yes, sir?"

"I'm going to need a disguise."

Smee's eyes darted back and forth as he thought, then he nodded and smiled. "I've just the thing! Hang on."

He returned a minute later with a heaping arm-full of clothing. "I rummaged a bit through the captain's cabin," he admitted. "Seems he's ex-navy, just like you."

Killian examined the garments, which included a white waistcoat, a black frock jacket with brass buttons and gold shoulder epaulettes, and a narrow bicorn hat not unlike the one he'd worn when he'd been a naval lieutenant, but emblazoned with the flower sigil of Emma's kingdom on the front. A standard sea captain's uniform.

"This will do nicely. Get everyone else cleaned up. Nothing that will make you stand out." He nodded at Smee's beloved red hat, then ducked into the captain's cabin to change. It proved difficult with only one hand, and he fumbled with the numerous buttons on both the waistcoat and jacket for quite a while before managing to get all of them fastened. By the time he put on the hat, secured his own sword back at his waist, and climbed out onto the deck, his crew was ready to go.

Ed gave him a sideways smile, likely remembering the young lad who'd tossed his rum overboard on their first voyage together.

"Split up. We'll meet up back at the  _Jolly Roger_. Smee, you're with me."

With the ship's three original crew members secured below deck, they disembarked into the night. Already, the sky to the east grew pale with the coming dawn.

The city's streets ran thick with soldiers of every stripe — knights, naval officers, cavalry men. Dressed in uniform, Killian blended in perfectly, the only conspicuous detail being the lack of one hand.

Smee had made a quick study of the city and guided him through a thick warren of shops, ducking corners every time they came upon a group of soldiers who might see fit to stop them. Somehow through every curve and turn, through every time they had to stop to appear as if they were conducting business rather than fleeing for their lives, Smee managed to keep his bearings. One of the many reasons Killian had always valued him as a member of the  _Jolly Roger's_  crew.

"This is going better than I'd expected," Killian admitted under his breath after they passed a group of mounted cavalry men.

Smee glanced over his shoulder. "We're almost home free, Captain."

 _Almost_.

Killian's chest felt tight. A mere handful of hours before, when he'd been locked in the dungeon with death looming over him and no hope of escape, he'd despaired more over Emma's fate than his own. Now he was nearly free to go after her, to bring down all of his wrath upon the man who'd dared to take her. It surprised him how little of a concern Regina seemed in comparison. Looking forward, all he could see was Emma.

He never thought he'd find something he wanted more than his revenge.

The rising sun at his back lit the streets in splashes of tangerine. Ahead of them, a sprawling open market was beginning to rouse for the day, peddlers opening their booths, the warm scent of fried bread curling in the air. Beyond the market, Killian could make out the edge of the woods and the junction where three roads led out of town. They'd take none of them, of course — too risky — but they'd have to stick close enough in order to cross the only bridge spanning a deep river chasm between town and where the  _Roger_  sat moored up the coast.

A horse and rider circled near the road.

"Ahh… _Bloody hell_." Killian grabbed Smee and hauled him up short. "That's Lancelot."

Smee drew in a breath, then turned so his shoulder pressed tight to Killian's side, obscuring his missing hand. "That's not our only problem."

Killian dared a peek behind them.

"Is that…?"

"Aye." Killian nodded.

The King rode toward them atop a huge, gray charger. He looked relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh and the other propped atop the pommel of his saddle. Doubtless, he was heading to meet with Lancelot and discuss the progress of their hunt. But that path would take him right past where Killian and Smee stood.

 _Damnation_.

The uniform would not be enough to disguise him if David looked his way.

Killian tucked his head low, letting the hat obscure his face and searched for a quick path through the vendor booths to the tree line.

"This way," Smee whispered and tugged on his arm.

They moved to slip between a vegetable stand and another stacked with flat bricks of finely wrapped chocolate when the king called out.

"You! Sailor!"

Killian bolted, Smee not far behind.

"It's him!" David cried out.

As Killian weaved through the market and darted toward the shelter of the forest, he heard the king's horse galloping up behind him, followed by a terrific crash as it plowed into one of the food stands. He didn't dare pause long enough to glance behind, casting out blind hope that David would be delayed long enough to allow him to escape. In his wake, he tipped over crates of apples and barrels of wine, blazing a path of destruction up until he careened around a patch of wild raspberry bushes and into the dapple gray twilight of the woods.

His boots crunched against the leaf litter as he ran. A fallen tree caused him to slow long enough to climb over it, the bark rough against his palms, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Smee was nowhere to be seen — either captured or, more likely, fleeing like a spooked hare along some near invisible trail that didn't include things like the loose branches and knobby roots and upturned rocks plaguing Killian's own escape.

A shout rang out behind him.

 _David_.

He'd abandoned his horse and was coming up fast on foot, his sword drawn, his heavy cloak thrown aside.

Killian ducked under a low hanging branch that caught his hat, knocking it off, then drew his own sword. A hint of weakness still haunted him from his injury. He had no hope of outrunning the king. He'd have to stand and fight.

David lifted his sword and came at him, their blades ringing out against each other with a crash so terrible that it set a flock of birds to flight above them. Killian gave ground to David's superior strength but kept his opponent's sword at bay. David fought with all of his daughter's skill but none of her cunning.

"You have to let me go to her," Killian said, not proud of the pleading tone to his voice.

David scowled. "Over my dead body."

"If it comes down to you or Emma...I'm going to pick her." Their swords clashed. "I want to be a better man for her. But when it comes to her life, I'll do what needs done. Even if she'd never forgive me. Even if I'd lose her forever."

David hesitated for a moment, his posture relaxing by a fraction.

Killian relaxed his in kind, a gesture of good-faith.

"You know in your heart that I'm telling you the truth," he continued.

David responded by swinging at him again.

Killian parried, stepped back, and caught his heel on a tree root.

He tumbled, one arm pinwheeling for the brief second that it took him to regain his footing. But it was already too late. David cracked him across the jaw with a bare fist, sending him sprawling. White flared across his vision. Blood dribbled into his mouth, hot and salty.

When his head stopped swimming, he found the point of David's sword hovering in front of his face. He looked up the length of steel at the king, who glared back, neither of them moving.

"You're making a mistake," he started. "The Evil Queen is in your midst—"

David's sword pressed against his throat, right over the desperate throb of his pulse.

"Do it then if you don't believe me." He lifted his chin in defiance. "Kill me."

He waited.

A chill early morning breeze rustled the leaves above them. And somewhere beyond the trees and brambles surrounding them, Killian heard the cavalry coming —  _literally_. Voices called out, searching for their king. A horse whinnied. Hooves drummed a chaotic, noisy beat against the ground.

David's jaw clenched.

Then he shifted, moving his sword away to offer his hand instead.

Flummoxed, Killian stared open-mouthed up at the king.

"What are you doing?"

"What feels right." David bent, forcefully took him by the hand, and hauled him to his feet.

Rendered speechless with gratitude, Killian could only grip the king's hand to convey his thanks. He knew what a massive leap of faith the man was taking for him, and it left him humbled.

"Go." David turned his back. "Before I change my mind."

The tense line of his shoulders and clipped tone of his voice suggested he just might.

Killian wasted no time.

Keeping his sword drawn lest he run into the likes of Lancelot, he turned and ran.

The navy uniform was stiflingly hot, the boots slippery. He panted and sweated until he caught sight of the road, then hunkered down long enough to catch his breath. No one appeared to have followed him. He unbuttoned his frock coat and loosened the collar underneath before climbing up onto the road to continue on his way.

By noon, he met back up with Smee, who breathlessly admitted to almost getting caught himself and congratulated Killian on his better fortune.

It took until late afternoon to reach the  _Jolly Roger_.

The ship sat anchored in a small, blue-green lagoon with an idyllic sandy shore. From a hill overlooking the water, he could see several men trawling for fish, and two more tending a cooking fire on the beach. The  _Roger's_  sails were conservatively reefed, just enough to avoid catching the wind but still able to be deployed for a quick escape. Killian skidded down the scree covered hillside, eager to get going.

Mullins and Foggerty, who stood over the cooking fire, pulled their weapons when they heard him coming.

"Look alive, mates!" he called out. "Back to the ship! We're setting sail post-haste!"

"Captain!" Mullins sheathed his sword and began kicking sand over the fire to snuff it out. "By the gods, it's good to see you, sir!"

"Have the others returned yet?"

Foggerty nodded. "Aye. Everyone except for you, Smee, and Skylights."

They loaded up the rowboat. Killian sat in the middle while the others manned the oars. As they pulled up beside the  _Jolly Roger_ , he couldn't help but reach out to brush his fingers along her hull. It felt good to set foot on her familiar deck again, like getting back a piece of himself. While his crew made the ship ready to sail, he took his position at the wheel. A huge gulf of time seemed to exist between now and when he'd stood there last — so much had changed. He lifted his left arm to rest it against one of the pegs, the empty cuff of his sleeve symbolic of all that he had lost.

"What's our heading, Captain?" Ed asked as he tied off a bit of rigging.

"Due north."

A few of his men paused in their work and turned to stare at him.

Foggerty spoke up. "But the Evil Queen is south of here."

Killian stood a little straighter and tucked his arm behind his back, hiding his infirmity so as to project his strength. "We're not going after the Evil Queen. We're heading to the Dark One's domain."

"To rescue the princess." Foggerty crossed his arms and behind him Killian saw several others do the same. "I thought our mission was to thwart Regina no matter the cost."

"Our mission is whatever I say it is," Killian barked.

One of the other men, emboldened by Foggerty's defiance, stepped up to stand beside him. "What about Skylights? We just going to leave him behind?"

As much as he regretted abandoning Skylights, he knew it was the right course of action. The man had been gravely wounded. Assuming he was even still alive, the best place for him, at least for the moment, was under the care of the palace doctors.

"Skylights is not your concern. Now, get back to your station, or get off of my ship."

They stared each other down, an icy sliver of dread shooting through Killian's heart. The loss of his hand, his capture, and the naval uniform were all working against him, undermining his authority. He had to stand strong and firm or risk full-on mutiny.

"This ain't what I signed up for, Captain." Foggerty lifted his chin a notch. "I got in this for profit and vengeance. There isn't either of those things up north."

"There's vengeance against the man who took my hand!" Killian abandoned his post at the wheel and stalked down to meet Foggerty face-to-face.

"We've heard things about this Dark One. Even the ogres don't dare go against him. He's the most powerful wizard in all the lands. You saw what happened when the princess stabbed him. He shook it off like it was nothing. He's not a man. He's a demon."

"Even demons can be killed. We'll find a way."

Out of the corner of his eye, Killian saw Ed, Turley, and Mullins move to stand behind him, making their loyalty known. But to his dismay, several others fell into line behind Foggerty, including — most gallingly — Smee. He cast Killian a regretful look and shrugged.

"It's death to go against the Dark One, Captain."

"It's death to mutiny, too," Ed snarled. "Is that what you've all got in mind?"

Several men shuffled their feet at that, but no one crossed sides. The crew remained split down the middle. Without a majority behind him, Killian knew he couldn't force the rest back into line.

If he couldn't keep control of the crew, he thought, he at least needed to maintain control of the  _Jolly Roger_.

"You're welcome to stay and fight the Evil Queen," he said and waved a hand toward shore. "But this ship is going north. With or without you."

Foggerty glanced up at the sails, weighing the offer. Killian already knew what he would decide. None of the men daring to mutiny valued the  _Jolly Roger_  more than their lives. Even if Foggerty wanted to fight, he'd find no support. Finally, after mulling it over for a long couple of seconds, Foggerty nodded.

"We'll stay behind," Smee said for him. "To save Skylights and defeat the Evil Queen."

The others echoed their agreement.

"Take what you need than." Killian stood back. "Be quick."

While Foggerty, Smee, and the rest collected their things, everyone else finished getting the ship ready to sail. It would be hard work to man the ship with the five who had elected to remain on board, but they'd manage. To make up some of the slack, Killian got to work himself. Turley and Black Murphy were hauling up the anchor as Foggerty, Smee, and his crew climbed into the rowboats to head to shore.

Free of the seabed, the ship slipped forward in the water, sails snapping, timbers creaking.

Killian freed a hook from the line he'd just tied off and turned it over in his hand as he walked back to the wheel. The sharp point of it scratched against his palm, cold and hard as his resolve. He leaned into the wheel, giving it a sharp turn.

"Alright, mates! Let's go skin us a crocodile!"


	13. In Which Emma Learns About Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor note, in case anyone notices -- I changed around some of my Corsair quotes by bringing the one I had on chapter 11 up to use here, and putting in a new one there. Also, I wanted to take a moment to extend my thanks to Onceuponsomechaos and prairiepirate for their help as beta readers. :)

And then at length her tears in freedom gushed;  
Big, bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell;  
But still her lips refused to send—"Farewell!"  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 13: In Which Emma Learns About Magic

That all of the king's soldiers proved completely incapable of finding Killian Jones didn't surprise Regina at all. She'd spent enough time trying to capture him to know how slippery he could be.

The man was a human cockroach. Every time she had tried to squash him, he'd managed to survive.

"I should have killed him in the dungeon when I had the chance," she muttered to herself, although she knew that wouldn't have helped matters. It irked that he'd gotten away again, but she needed to keep her eye on the prize. Killian Jones could wait.

She hadn't expected his crew to come save him. Running into him in the hallway had been an unpleasant surprise. Luckily, the man was besotted enough with the princess that he hadn't been able to raise a hand against her.

But the encounter had left her wondering...

Did he know her plans?

Regina didn't see how he could. Still, the question plagued her.

There was one way she could find out.

She lingered just out of sight until she heard the old lady leaving the injured pirate's room, and then she swooped in. There wouldn't be much time. The doctors rarely left the man alone for long.

Inside, she discovered the pirate asleep, his breathing shallow and labored. The whole room reeked of chemicals and pungent herbs. A mortar and pestle on the bedside table had a half-crushed sprig of dragon's breath inside of it, releasing the plant's sharp, infernal odor into the room. An old wives' tale held that the smell could keep evil spirits at bay. Thankfully, that didn't appear to be true.

As Regina approached the bed, her presence made the pirate stir.

His eyes fluttered open, a brief flash of confusion drawing his brows together before realization set in.

"Good." Regina bent over the bed. "You know who I am. That will make this easier."

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice weak.

"Just one thing." She flexed her fingers in front of him, allowing a spark of magic to work a fiery trail across them. "Tell me...What does your captain know about my plans?"

The man's eyes darted back and forth. "…Nothing."

"He knew enough to kidnap Emma." She caressed his ribs and curled her lips back in a cruel smile. "Don't make me do this the hard way."

"I told you…We knew you planned to abduct her. That's all."

Regina didn't think he was lying, but she was so close now — all of the ingredients for her curse finally gathered — that she had to be sure. It would take a little longer and leave her open to discovery, but it was a chance she'd have to take.

She couldn't abide this uncertainty.

Without a word of warning, she plunged her hand into the man's chest and closed her fingers tight around his heart. He gasped and bucked underneath her, his nails scraping against her arm. Regina gripped his heart harder, stifling its beat, and watched as his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell back onto the bed, limp and dazed, as she ripped the organ free.

A shiver of pleasure gave her goosebumps as she palmed the warm, throbbing heart. The sense of power and control she felt while holding one…there was no comparison. Licking her lips, eager to use magic after masquerading as Emma for so long, she closed her eyes and let the spell wash over her, a current that took her deep into the man's mind.

She saw a flash of herself standing before him, the heart in her hand, and learned his name — not the moniker he went by, but his  _real_  name — before finding her way to his memories.

He was on the very edge of consciousness, his thoughts a disorganized jumble. She sifted past flashes of joy — the smell of warm apple tarts, the sea breeze in his face, the powerful solitude of the crow's nest. And dark clouds of agony — a broken leg when he fell from the rigging, the loss of his sister to childhood disease, and the arrow that had nearly taken his life. She left no corner of his psyche untouched.

Digging...

Searching...

…until she found his memories of Jones's interception of Emma's ship.

Skylights had been telling the truth, it seemed. Jones hadn't known anything of her true plans, only that she had wanted the princess. Although the revelation that he had spies in her court made her eyebrows raise.

_I'll deal with that later._

Her impetuous rummaging was rousing Skylights back into consciousness, his mind beginning to contract into coherence. Aware she was almost out of time, Regina was about to release her grasp on the heart when a memory bubbled to the surface — recalled not by her, but reflexively by Skylights himself.

Confounded, Regina saw David leaning over the young pirate, asking questions, doubt and suspicion clear on the king's face.

No wonder he'd been acting so strangely toward her.

She'd sensed that something had been off when they'd talked after Jones's escape, but she hadn't imagined that he might seriously suspect her as an impostor.

_This could ruin everything._

Regina's hand trembled with her fury.

She couldn't fail now. Not when she'd worked so hard. Planned so long.

Her mind's eye snapped shut to the images flooding in from the heart, and she returned to herself to discover Skylights looking plaintively up at her from the bed. His fear warmed her like the heat from a fire — fluid and primal. His mouth formed a hard, brave line, refusing to reveal the storm she knew brewed deep inside. Against her will, it engendered a small spark of admiration for the man.

_I'll make it quick, then._

Her hand clenched hard and fast.

His heart cracked, splintered, and burst.

On the bed, he jolted, took a deep, rattling breath, and then stilled.

Regina walked to the window and tossed the ashes out into the wind. Perhaps from here they'd reach the sea, she thought.

Then, absolved, she brushed her palm clean on the skirt of her dress and left, leaving Skylights behind, his sharp eyes open and unseeing as they stared up at the ceiling.

* * *

Emma was standing on top of her bed, trying to look out the narrow window of her cell, when Rumplestiltskin materialized in the room behind her.

"Good morning, dearie," he said, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

For several days now, she'd been left alone in her cell without any visitors, save for Belle who stopped by only to deliver Emma's meals. Those small minutes of human interaction did little to either buoy Emma's spirits or alleviate her boredom. Left to pace and mutter, she'd begun spending time deep in flights of fancy — daydreaming of home, of Killian, and imagining herself as a prisoner once more on board the  _Jolly Roger_. It had been in service of that particular fantasy that she'd climbed on top of her mattress, hoping perhaps the sea would be visible from the tower in which she was being held.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" Rumple asked, looking up at her with a knowing smile.

Emma glared at him and hopped down onto the floor. "Can't you use the door like a normal person?"

"I haven't been a normal person for quite some time," he said as he twirled a bit of straw between his long, reptilian fingers. "Don't tell me you hadn't noticed."

"No. That'd be pretty hard to miss."

His eyes narrowed to yellow slits as he looked her up and down. "It would seem that you're far from normal yourself, Princess."

Emma knew she was probably a sight with her dress wrinkled from having been slept in and her hair a disheveled mess, but she didn't think he meant anything about her appearance. He slinked toward her, his hand forming a fist that came to rest just above her breast.

"When I tried to pull out your heart, I couldn't wrest it free," he said. "Do you know why that is?"

She shrugged, trying hard to conceal how his proximity unnerved her. "Everyone has performance issues once in a while."

"This was something else."

"What?"

"Magic."

Emma scoffed, the absolute impossibility of his suggestion allowing her to relax a bit. "I…? Magic? Seriously? No. There is nothing magical about me."

"Oh, I assure you, there is." He circled around her once. From the calculating look on his face, Emma guessed that he'd already spent many hours puzzling over this mystery. "Your parents, Snow White and her Prince Charming, are famous across all the lands for their true love."

"So?"

"So, there is no magic more powerful in all the realms than true love." He made a fluttery gesture toward himself and added, "Except, of course, for mine."

Emma squinted at him incredulously. "You think because my parents love each other that I have magical powers?"

Rumple's mouth quirked into an impish grin. "One way to find out."

With a wave of his hand, he transported both of them to his study. After the confinement of her cell, the sprawling expanse of the room made Emma feel terribly exposed. She had to fight back the urge to duck and cover. A deep breath helped to steady her.

Rumple walked over to the hearth and put out the crackling flames. He crossed his arms and turned to face her. "Your task is simple. I want you to light it again."

"What, like…with my mind?"

Rumple shook his head. "The first thing you need to understand about magic is that it is rooted in emotion. Anger. Fear. Love."

"Yeah?" Emma couldn't help interrupting. "What emotion do you use?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he raised a hand as if about to snap his fingers. "If you're not interested in trying, I can always send you back to your cell."

That was the last thing Emma wanted. Even Rumple's company was better than none. And what would it hurt to play along?

"So, what do I do?" she asked as she approached the fireplace. "Think happy thoughts?"

"Something like that."

With a shrug, Emma held her hands out, screwed her eyes shut, and tried to concentrate.

Nothing happened.

She glanced at Rumple, seeking permission to stop, but he merely raised his eyebrows and flicked an impatient finger toward the cold fireplace. "Didn't think you'd get it on the first try, did you? Keep at it, dearie."

So she made another attempt. And another. All to the same effect.

"This isn't working," she finally said, lowering her hands.

"You're trying too hard." Rumple stepped up beside her and put his hands on her shoulders, his touch heavy, cold, and insistent. "Magic isn't something you  _do_. It's something you  _feel_."

Emma huffed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. All she could  _feel_  right now was annoyed. Somehow, she didn't think  _that_  was going to be generating any magical sparks.

"I'm pretty sure you're wrong about me. Don't you think I'd know it by now if I could start fires with my mind?"

"Not your mind," he reminded her, his tone sharp with growing frustration. "Your heart. Perhaps that's the problem. Your heart isn't in this. Luckily, I can change that."

"Yeah? How?"

Rumple's hand left her shoulder and came up to cover her eyes. His touch sent a jolt of pain through her head, and for a second she lost her sense of balance, the world tipping and shifting underneath her feet.

Then a bright light flashed, momentarily dazzling her.

She wrenched Rumple's hand away from her face.

The light had left her vision blurry and spotted. She blinked several times before the riot of white, blue, and brown smeared like watercolors on canvas resolved into something more like reality. But she did not see Rumple's study. Instead, she saw a ship's sails towering above her, billowing in the wind.

"Emma?"

_It can't be_ …

"Killian?"

She turned and saw him rushing down the  _Jolly Roger's_  companionway toward her, his long coat flaring out behind him. The look on his face made her breath catch — eyes wide, full of hope and longing; cheeks flushed from the wind; his mouth parted on an eager, disbelieving smile.

He stopped just out of reach, then took a tentative step forward, the leather of his coat creaking as he reached out to her. The thought of his fingers brushing her cheek, of his palm cupping her face, had her already leaning into him, muscle memory bringing her hands up to grip his lapels. So many nights now, she'd dreamed of this…of being back on the  _Jolly Roger_ , back in his arms. Touching him. Tasting him. Breathing in the scent of him.

It took all of her wits to stop herself.

"Wait…no."

"What is it?" His hand dropped to his side.

She shook her head and backed away, needing to put space between them in order to think clearly. She was afraid he'd vanish like a figment of her imagination if she touched him, and she didn't  _want_  him to disappear.

"This can't be real."

"I assure you, I'm quite real."

"No. This is a trick. Rumplestiltskin wouldn't—"

As if summoned by his name, Rumple appeared next to her.

"Wouldn't what? Reunite you with your ex-lover?" He laughed. "You're right. I wouldn't."

He snapped his fingers and something invisible twined around her waist and legs, coiling tight. It slithered all the way up around her shoulders, and bound her fast, like a prisoner awaiting execution.

Killian stepped back and drew his sword, all in the same motion.

"Get off my ship, Dark One!"

Rumple smirked.

"Oh, it's not me you have to worry about."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rather than talk to Killian, Rumple leaned in, directing his response toward Emma. "Pirate captains make a lot of enemies. I may have let slip to one of Captain Jones's exactly where he could be found…"

Emma had to squint as the sun suddenly seemed to grow brighter. Against the glare, she made out a dark shadow — lanky and human looking, heading straight toward the ship. It swooped low over the deck, making everyone duck.

Killian raised his sword protectively over his head and swung at it to no avail, his blade passing right through it. Unfazed, it circled back around and paused above the forecastle deck to look down at them.

Only then did Emma realize the creature was nothing  _but_  shadow. Lithe and ghostly, black as the night sky with two burning coals for eyes. It fixed its silent, menacing glare directly on Killian.

"What does it want?" Emma asked, her head swimming.

Rumple laughed. "The pirate's soul."

The shadow flew down at Killian again, knocking him to his back this time. He landed not far from Emma's feet and groaned at the impact.

Emma struggled as Killian got back to his feet, but the magic that bound her only squeezed tighter.

"Sorry, dearie," Rumple said. Then, with a wave of his fingers, the crew froze in place all around her as well. "No swashbuckling for you today."

"What? You want me just to stand by and watch this? You sick son of a—"

"Now, there's the fire I'm looking for," he said, cutting her off. "As a matter of fact, there  _is_  a way for you to help your precious pirate. You see, this creature is from Neverland — a realm ruled by dreams — and so it is bound by the one thing that governs all the monsters of our nightmares."

In the palm of his hand, a lantern appeared — old and rusty, with frosted glass windows and, inside, a thick, half-melted candle that was half white and half black.

"This lantern will capture the shadow and send it back. All you have to do is light the candle."

Emma stared at him open-mouthed. He'd put together this whole scenario just to get her to do magic?

"This isn't real," she insisted. It couldn't be. How could he know where Killian was in order to magic them both onto the ship, let alone have the time to find this shadow creature and direct it to the there? It was too convenient. Too well-orchestrated.

"Ah, but you can't take that chance. Can you?" Rumple said. "Anyway, the important thing right now is does it  _feel_  real?"

The shadow flew past her right side.

She watched in horror as it dove straight at Killian. His sword slashed uselessly through the shadow's arms and torso, his eyes growing wide with grim fear. Then the shadow grabbed him, both of its ghastly hands sparking with magic as the creature's fingers dug deep, pulling…prying.

Killian cried out in pain.

"Stop this! I can't do any magic!" Emma yelled desperately, looking to Rumple who stood by, calmly watching the proceedings.

"Oh, but you can, dearie. You just need to ask yourself who you're protecting. Then take all the fear, or passion, or whatever it is you feel right now when you look at this man, and use it to  _light the damned candle_."

The magical bindings burned her wrists as she fought against them, wanting nothing more than to take her sword and plunge it anew into the imp's chest. Perhaps she'd merely missed his heart the first time — measly little thing that it was — and would have better luck finding her mark now. A cry from Killian shifted her fraught attention back to him, a sick, heaviness filling her stomach as the shadow wrenched back hard, beginning to work free something dark and unformed from Killian's body.

_His soul?_

"Emma…" he choked out, agony thick in his voice.

_No! Gods! Please…_

Rumple held out the lantern.

If this was really his only chance…she had to try.

She gave herself over to the war raging within her heart. Terror washed over her first, sharp and primal, followed by a blind, berserker rage that startled her with its potency. She hadn't realized such darkness existed within her. As much as it frightened her, she focused on it anyway, drawing all of it up, channeling it, focusing…fixing her gaze on the candle.

The lantern swayed in Rumple's hand, implacable and unlit.

The shadow now had pulled most of Killian's soul free. It had begun to take on the form of a man — another shadow, but surrounded with a halo of light that had begun to fade around the edges.

Killian's hands grasped futilely at his attacker.

She'd failed him.

He'd die here while she watched, able to do nothing to stop it.

Grief threatened to crush her.

And then their eyes met.

He looked past the shadow to her, the moment stretching out between them. She wanted to freeze time and hold onto it forever, knowing this might well be their last.

Standing there, gazing past the chasm of death widening between them, her love for him became a pure and profound thing.

Tangible. Hot. A wave of sheer energy.

The candle sparked and lit.

The shadow jerked with surprise, releasing Killian's soul, and was sucked — scratching and clawing at the air — into the lantern, where it vanished with a tiny puff of smoke as the candle went out once again.

Emma's knees went weak.

Before her, Killian gasped and crumpled onto the ship's deck.

"Is he…?" Emma fought to get to him.

_Oh gods. Was I too late?_

The crew unfroze then. Several men ran past Emma toward their fallen captain.

Rumple stepped in between them, his free hand against his mouth in a contemplative fist. "Interesting…" he murmured.

"I did it, now let me go!" She strained to see around him, but could only make out Smee bent over Killian's prone form.

Rumple released her so suddenly that she fell forward a step. She shoved past him, overcome with the need to get to Killian, to put her hands on his chest and feel its rise and fall, to watch his eyes open and see the man she loved looking back at her rather than just the empty vessel of his body.

But then he, his crew, and the whole of the  _Jolly Roger_  vanished with another blinding flash of light.

Emma was, once again, in Rumplestiltskin's study. Disoriented, her eyes and head aching, she lurched to a stop.

"No," she panted. Then, louder with all of her despair: " _No!_ "

"No need for histrionics. You did quite well."

She turned to see Rumple standing behind her, still holding the lantern.

"Is he okay?" she demanded.

"What do you think?"

Furious beyond measure, she advanced on Rumple, fully intent on wiping the slimy smirk off his face with her fist. But he waved a dismissive hand toward her — like shooing away a fly — and transported her back to her cell.

Heart pounding, chest heaving, she stood in the silence and trembled.

Had any of it been real? She wasn't sure.

But it had  _felt_  real.

A tide of anguish began to overtake her rage.

Unable to help herself, she collapsed onto the floor, hands twining in the material of her dress, and sobbed.

* * *

Smee wasn't sure he'd made the right decision.

He had no doubt that going up against someone as powerful as the Dark One was courting disaster. Plus, he had no desire to risk his life for Emma's — there hadn't been much love lost between the two ever since she'd knocked him out, humiliating him in front of the entire crew, when he'd first boarded her ship. Still, the company he found himself in now left him longing for his captain's steady hand. As the ranking officer among them, Smee knew he should have been in charge. However, rank had quickly fallen by the wayside as they set off into the woods.

Foggerty had himself convinced that they were going to single-handedly rescue Skylights and slay the Evil Queen. When Mason grumbled over the impossibility of such a task, Foggerty swiftly bullied him into submission.

It became quite clear as Foggerty continually glanced in Smee's direction that putting together a plan to achieve this far-fetched goal was going to fall to him.

When they arrived back at the royal city, it was still thrumming with military activity. A group of three heavily armored knights stopped and questioned them on their way into town. Foggerty lied with practiced ease, claiming that they were poor farmers flushed from the countryside by the war, looking for work. After the knights let them pass, he led them to a seedy, mostly vacant inn on the far edge of town, so near the docks it reeked of fish and low-tide.

"So…" Foggerty sat down across from Smee with a large mug of ale in one hand and a dagger in the other. "What's the plan?"

"I don't have one."

Foggerty stabbed the end of his dagger into the table top and twisted it around, his dark eyes serious and threatening — not the vaguely intimidating, strong-willed way Captain Jones sometimes looked, but shining with simple, run-of-the-mill, casual violence.

"Well, figure one out then," he said.

Smee heard the obvious subtext loud and clear.

_Or else._

Scowling, growing more certain than ever that he'd made the wrong choice, Smee took a long draught from his own mug before getting up and heading out the door.

He stroked his whiskers as he walked, considering the possibilities.

Bribing the guards would not work a second time. He'd have to find a more subtle way in, which was going to take time and reconnaissance. He wasn't sure Foggerty would wait. And, for that matter, he wasn't sure Skylights would even be alive that long. He'd only gotten a brief glimpse of his crewmate's injuries as they'd fled the castle, but it hadn't looked good.

With a grim, weary sigh, he pulled his red hat on low over his ears and headed up the road toward the castle. Perhaps, he thought, if he watched the movement in and around the walls long enough, a way inside might simply present itself. But he doubted it. More likely, it was going take him days worth of plotting, greasing hands, and other such underhanded dealings.

He didn't know what Foggerty expected.

"I'm not a godsdamned wizard," he grumbled to himself.

The castle, as expected, had been locked down after their escape. Both the outer and inner gates were down, with guards posted on both sides. Patrols moved everywhere along the top of the high walls, leaving no inch unaccounted for. All of the business which normally took place in the palace courtyard had been moved outside. Vendors and handcarts clogged the road. Smee moved as close to the gate as he could, feigning interest in some woolen rugs, so that he could get a look inside the courtyard proper.

To his surprise, he saw Emma.

She stood just inside the iron portcullis, talking to one of the guards. Smee squinted, trying to read her lips and make out her words, but a shout rang out behind him and everyone began to press in around him. Smee was pushed forward, actually jostling into one of the gatehouse guards, as a group of men on horseback approached through the part in the crowd. To his other side, the gates squealed and began to rise.

_Of all the rotten luck…_

The king was coming up the road with one of his knights — the one who had shot Ed and Skylights. Lancelot, Smee thought his name was.

Swearing under his breath, Smee tried to sink back into the throng of people, but everyone was packed tight. He couldn't shoulder his way back.

Panic rising, his heart skipped a beat when he looked up and the king met his gaze.

_Son of a—_

It only lasted a second, then the king looked away, past Smee to the open gates.

Emma stood on the road before him, little more than an arm's length away.

Smee held his breath, willing himself into invisibility. If the king had recognized him…

_Damn it_. He hadn't signed up for this. All he'd wanted was to make a decent living. And…yeah, okay…maybe to save his own hide since he'd been on the run from a man he'd stolen a golden egg from when he'd first come on board the  _Jolly Roger_. But that was neither here nor there. Rescue missions, princesses, and wizards had  _not_  been in his contract.

Couldn't a man just be a criminal anymore? Was that asking too much?

The king's horse moved past him.

Smee glanced up and saw Emma reach out to take hold of the horse's bridle. The gate lowered once again behind them, and the crowd relaxed, expanding once more.

Whisking off his hat, Smee dabbed a bit of sweat from his brow.

That had been way too close.

He moved away from the castle, losing himself in the bustle.

There was definitely a way in — there  _always_  was — but he'd look for it elsewhere. In darker corners. On less frequented paths. Ones less likely to get him killed.

_Knew I should've stayed with the captain._

* * *

All of the doubts that David had been harboring were gone.

Now he knew for sure.

The woman who had come home to him was  _not_  his daughter.

After letting Killian Jones escape in the forest, he had directed a half-hearted attempt to search for the man. It had surprised him at the time how little regret he'd suffered over his decision. Somehow, letting Jones go had felt right. He couldn't explain why, so he'd kept up pretenses. His men scoured the forest, concentrating their search in the direction he'd claimed the pirate had fled in, and came up empty-handed. That night, when he'd returned to the castle with Lancelot, he avoided Snow and Emma by sleeping in one of the guest rooms, then rose before dawn to rejoin his men in the city.

Despite his surety, he hadn't wanted to face either of them yet.

Lancelot turned the town upside down and inside out.

All he managed to discover was a merchant captain whose ship had apparently been briefly commandeered by Jones and his crew.

Once it had become abundantly clear that their quarry had escaped, David called the search off, though Lancelot ordered a contingent of men to remain posted about town.

The two had been on their way back to the castle when he'd spotted the man he'd seen Jones with in the market. For a brief moment, uncertainty and alarm warred within him.

Surely, this couldn't be the same man. He'd only gotten a glimpse of him, after all. But, no. As their eyes met, recognition sparking, he knew he was not mistaken. Did that mean Jones was back, too? Had he let the man go, only to have him circle back around to make good on his nefarious plans?

Then the gates opened and Emma came out to meet him.

She'd walked right past the pirate without the slightest hint of acknowledgement.

With absolute clarity, David realized that she didn't recognize the man because she had never met him before. Because this woman —  _Regina_ — had never so much as set foot on Killian Jones's ship.

The moment he accepted the idea, she shifted into such crisp focus that he couldn't believe he hadn't seen it sooner. She had none of Emma's mannerisms, none of her presence. When she'd reached for his horse's bridle to hold it steady as he dismounted, she'd grabbed it without any gentleness or concern for the animal, whereas Emma had always been quick to stroke the side of its neck and murmur gently in its ear.

Heart pounding, mind racing, he'd excused himself, telling her that he had business to attend to with his knights, and instead set off in search of Snow.

First and foremost, he needed to break the news to his wife. Not just that the Emma they'd welcomed home was not real, but that their actual daughter might still be in mortal danger.

The real problem, he thought as he walked down the hallway toward their chambers, would be convincing her of the truth. He hadn't wanted to believe it either, even in the face of mounting evidence.

He turned a corner, moving with hasty purpose, and nearly ran into Red, who was walking the other way with an armload of linens.

"Oh! David!" She stumbled to a stop.

He reached out with one hand to steady her.

"Sorry about that…"

"That's okay. I was hoping I'd get the chance to talk to you."

He frowned, preoccupied. "Why? Can it wait?"

"I suppose. But I only need a second—"

"Good. Have you seen Snow?"

"No. I've been busy."

He nodded, only half hearing what she was saying. Single-minded, consumed with worry for his daughter, he went to continue past Red down the hall when she stuck out an elbow to stop him.

When he turned to look at her, he noticed her frown.

"What is it?" he asked, gently this time.

"The pirate. Skylights." She swallowed hard. "He's dead."

David's blood turned to ice in his veins.

"When?"

"This morning."

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "What happened?"

"We don't know for sure. Granny had just checked on him. She says he was asleep when she left. But when I got there twenty minutes later, he was dead. The doctors think maybe his lung collapsed again."

David knew better.

Red shook her head sadly. "He seemed stable, but…I guess he wasn't. I'm sorry. I know how much you needed him to help find Captain Jones."

"It's not your fault."

"No. Someone should have stayed with him. Maybe if I'd been there…" She trailed off with a shrug, and all David could think was that if she'd been there, maybe she'd be dead, too.

"I'd like you to go find Granny and Lancelot, then meet me and Snow in our drawing room in thirty minutes. There's something important I'd like to tell all of you."

Red tilted her head. "Emma, too?"

"No." He gave her a hard look to impress the importance of his words. "Just you, Granny, and Lancelot. No one else."

Red nodded, concern evident in the downward turn of her mouth. He knew it would be little comfort, but he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly before setting off again in search of his wife. Back when Snow had been a fugitive in her own kingdom, Red and her granny had done everything they could to help her escape from the Evil Queen. They had risked their lives countless times for his family, and they both knew what Regina was capable of. He wanted them by his side as they dealt with the queen once more.

He knew they had to tread lightly. That they might catch Regina off-guard was their only hope. Not only because she could be extremely dangerous when cornered, but because he didn't have time for a protracted battle with her. Not when his  _real_  daughter was being held by the Dark One himself.

That Killian Jones was, at this very moment, on his way to Rumplestiltskin's domain to rescue her gave him little comfort.

He needed to be there himself.

When he reached his private chamber, he pushed open the door.

Inside, the room was empty, save for a bird perched on the sill of the open window, eating from a bowl of seed that Snow kept there. To be certain, David called out for her. When there was no answer, he walked over and opened the door to her wardrobe. Her vanity sat empty inside, though the sight of the mirror reminded him of how Regina had appeared there to deliver the news of Emma's abduction so many long weeks ago.

She'd played them from the beginning.

His hands tightened into fists at his sides.

Too long Regina had been allowed to sit upon her ill-gotten throne, unpunished for all of the death and torment she had wreaked upon both Snow and her kingdom. They had turned a blind eye to Regina's tyranny in exchange for peace, something he now realized had been too high a price. It was far past time that they stood up and did something. They'd been weak and tired of fighting. They'd given up. Failed the very people who depended upon them for protection.

Not anymore.

So long as he was alive, he'd see to it that the Evil Queen never ruled from his wife's throne again.

Behind him, the chamber door opened, its hinges creaking.

"Snow?"  _Thank the gods_. "Is that you?"

He turned around and stepped back out into the bedroom, then froze mid-step.

"Guess again."

"Emma…"

The chamber door slammed shut behind her.

"Do you need something?" he asked, his voice strained by the effort it took to feign nonchalance.

She smiled at him, and down at her side he noticed something magical shimmer in the palm of her hand.

"As a matter of fact, I do… _David_."


	14. In Which There is a Curse

"I come through darkness—and scarce I know why—  
Yet not to hurt—I would not see thee die."  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 14: In Which There is a Curse

Regina locked the door to her chamber and walked over to the vanity. Even after so many endless days wearing a glamor, it still startled her to see Emma's face in the mirror rather than her own.

But not for much longer.

David had gotten close to ruining everything. She'd managed to find and take care of him before he'd had the chance to say anything to the others. Even so, it wouldn't be long now before they began to grow suspicious.

It was time to cast her spell.

With a great amount of relief, she let the glamour disguising her as Emma fall away. In the mirror, her reflection shifted and shimmered, blonde hair turning dark, princess melting away into queen.

"Ahh," she said to her reflection. "It's good to be me again."

She gathered everything she needed in front of her, including the final piece — the symbol of David and Snow's love. She had been returning from the castle's undercroft where she'd collected it when she'd had her unlucky run in with Killian Jones. In the chaos that followed, no one had questioned why she'd been carrying a small wooden box, and she'd managed to spirit it away to her room before anyone took note of it. She looked at it sitting on the vanity in front of her and brushed her fingers over top the family crest inlaid into the lid — the same flower sigil she had spent more than a decade scouring off every inch of her kingdom.

The hinges creaked as she opened it.

From inside, she fetched a ring. Simple, unadorned, with a single green jewel. Hardly worth much. But then, the two hadn't had much when they'd married — David a prince who had not yet come into his own, and Snow a fugitive.

As a symbol of their love, she thought Snow's wedding band would do quite nicely.

Regina slipped it on her own finger and held out her hand. The small ring only fit down to her first knuckle, which she thought was probably why Snow had stopped wearing it. In a misguided attempt at mother-daughter bonding, Snow had explained to Regina that she hoped Emma to have it one day when she married.

 _Doesn't look like_ that _is going to happen_.

Regina pulled the ring back off.

She had one last bit of business to take care of.

She reached out and touched the mirror with the tip of her finger. It fogged, then the mist swirled, forming a vortex. She spoke a name into it and waited as the mirror slowly cleared, no longer showing her reflection but instead acting as a window into another place — a study, lined with books. In the corner by an open window sat a spinning wheel and a bundle of straw. The stool in front of the wheel was empty, the room's usual occupant nowhere to be found.

"Rumplestiltskin?"

"You rang?" came his voice, not from within the mirror as she'd expected, but from behind her.

Regina swore and spun around to face him.

"It may be old fashioned of me, but I really do prefer to handle my affairs in the flesh," he said. "Adds a personal touch, don't you think? Now, what can I do for you, dearie?"

"Just making sure you're going to follow through on your part of the plan," Regina replied.

"Of course. We have a deal. And I always keep my deals."

"You also always twist them to suit your own needs. And the timing is critical," she reminded him. "If the people are ever going to welcome me, I have to come to them as a hero. Not a villain. I need to know that everything is in place before I proceed."

Rumple dismissed her concerns with a wave. "Yes-yes. The ogres will be pressing on the kingdom's borders by morning and the castle gates by the week's end."

"Excellent." Regina sagged in her seat, relieved. "I presume you're satisfied with your part of the bargain, then?"

"Quite." Rumple grinned, then inclined his head in a bow. "Enjoy your victory, Your Majesty."

A rush of pride and excitement made Regina sit tall again.

"Thank you. I will."

Rumple vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving her to turn and collect the component parts to her curse. Next to them, she unrolled a scroll with a long, complex incantation.

No going back now.

Gathering up all of her magic, she began to work.

* * *

Snow rubbed her eyes, weary after a long morning spent holding court. With David occupied following the escape of Killian Jones, the task had fallen to her alone. The manhunt had turned the town upside down, creating a wave of petitioners demanding restitution for damaged goods, including one particularly irate man who had apparently lost several dozen pounds of handcrafted chocolate when David's horse had overturned a stand filled with the stuff in the market.

She knew that his complaint was about more than chocolate. It was the man's livelihood at stake. Still, part of her couldn't help but think it petty and small in contrast to her daughter's well-being.

Pulling off her gloves, she walked toward her room. Her crown weighed heavy on her head, carrying with it the burdens of the entire kingdom. She wanted nothing more than to take it off, along with the other accruements of her position, including the ornate dress; the feathered cloak; and the gaudy, yellow amulet that had been worn by the queens of the kingdom for the past five hundred odd years.

When she arrived at her room, she pushed the door open with a grateful sigh, eager to change and freshen up. Hopefully by the time she was done, David would be back with news.

Inside, she took one look at the mess and groaned. The bowl of bird seed she usually left out on the windowsill had been overturned, scattering seed in a wide swath across the floor.

She clucked her tongue and bent to sweep it up.

Down on the floor, corralling it into a pile with her hands, she saw that some of the shells were broken open, as if they had been stepped on. Frowning, she got back to her feet and dusted off her hands.

Had one of the servants come in and not bothered to clean it up?

Meaning to fetch a broom, she opened the door to her wardrobe.

What she saw made her blood run cold.

There, lying on the floor, was David.

Snow cried out and dropped to her knees beside him. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes closed. Her fingers desperately sought out his pulse, but she was trembling so fiercely that she couldn't make out the movement of anything in his throat — not a heartbeat or a breath.

"Help!" she screamed. "Someone!"

Heart pounding, she took him by the shoulders and shook him. His head lolled back and forth, but he didn't rouse.

She didn't see any blood. No scratches or bruises. Nothing to indicate what had happened to him.

"David? Oh Gods. David, wake up! Please!"

Her voice sounded distant and far away as the world closed in around her.

It took her a moment to realize that it wasn't grief making her vision narrow, but a black mist curling into the room, sparking as it rolled across the ceiling. It brought with it an unmistakable scent that filled Snow with a wave of revulsion.

 _Dark magic_.

Only one person she knew practiced such dangerous sorcery.

She shot to her feet, her mind moving to Emma. She had to make sure her daughter was safe.

The fog slithered around her like a snake and squeezed. For a brief second, she thought she heard a voice, chanting old words filled with power.

_Regina's voice._

Snow scrambled blindly for the door.

Then, with a horrible crack, something deep within her snapped loose.

She saw a brilliant flash of red light.

Felt a final surge of mortal terror.

And then…nothing.

* * *

During his tenure as Dark One, Rumplestiltskin hadn't given much thought to true love. He knew — in an academic sort of way — that it existed and was powerful, but he had never seen or experienced it. Until now…

He'd taken a calculated risk by prodding Emma to use her magic. He'd needed to know for sure whether she truly possessed any, or if his inability to take her heart had perhaps been thanks to a protective spell cast on her as a child. Her parents, after all, had spent considerable time fleeing from Regina, who had a penchant for that sort of thing.

The vision he had manufactured for her of the pirate had been more than enough to trigger her latent abilities. And what he'd seen surprised him.

A brilliant flare of white magic, strong and pure. Unmistakable.

Few people in the world possessed true love.

Fewer still were those born of true love who managed to find their own.

Emma, blessed twice over by this ultimate of magics, possessed considerable power — enough to give even the Dark One pause.

He stood in his vault, looking over the myriad of shelves packed with all the magical artifacts he had acquired over the past fifteen years, plus those he had inherited from his predecessors. Slowly, he walked between shelves of books and scrolls; around mirrors draped in cloth and cloaks hung on mannequins; and past cabinets filled with enchanted swords, cups, and keys.

In his heady first few days as Dark One, still quivering with the electric energy that had transferred to him when he'd plunged the cursed dagger into old Zoso's chest, he had taken to the vault with reckless abandon. He'd quickly learned that much of what had made its way here did so because it was too dangerous or unpredictable to be of use, which was why so many of those who came before him had treated the vault as a place to toss things aside to be forgotten. A vast trove indeed, it took up an entire floor in the eastern wing of his estate. The origins and function of many of the objects was a mystery, even to him — especially the older items, collected in the far annals of Dark Ones gone by, before anyone had bothered to keep a records of such things.

Rumplestiltskin had no idea how far back the power he possessed went. As far as he knew, there always had been and always would be a Dark One.

But perhaps, if he could steal Emma's magic and use it to bolster his own, he could be the last.

Perhaps he could conquer death itself.

Somewhere among the clutter, he knew there had to be something he could use to contain her long enough to figure out how.

His eyes landed on an urn.

"Ah, yes." He smiled and scooped it up.

The item in question had come from the frozen stretches of the far north. Zoso's notes suggested that it could be used to contain any one person — magical or otherwise — indefinitely. All he had to do was unstopper it.

Bae would not be happy. But he so rarely was these days anyway.

Ironic, really. Rumple had started down this path with Bae's best interest at heart. He'd planned to pair his son with the princess so that he might one day take her throne as well as the mantle of Dark One. It was clear now that Bae had no interest in power, magical or political, and the princess had even less interest in him.

So what a lucky twist of fate that she might free him of the burden of finding an heir at all.

Pleased with how unexpectedly well this was working in his favor, Rumple tucked the urn close to his side and made his way back up out of the vault.

Occupied with daydreams of all that he could do with hundreds of years as the Dark One to look forward to, he fished the key out of his pocket to lock the door behind him.

When he turned around, he saw Bae coming down the hallway toward him.

"Son." He smiled and slipped the key back into his pocket. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, actually." Baelfire stopped several feet away, looking uncomfortable, as he had for so many years now that Rumple hardly recalled the way his son had once looked at him, before he'd become the Dark One.

"Do you need anything from me?" he asked, genuinely curious. He'd seen even less of his son than usual since he'd brought Emma home. That Bae would seek him out was exceedingly unusual.

Baelfire nodded at the urn rather than answer. "What's that?"

"Something for my study. Thought it would look nice next to the spinning wheel."

Bae's expression crinkled, his mouth folding into a sour frown. "Maybe if Belle polishes it up a bit. That thing looks ancient." He shook his head, then took a step forward. "Listen, I came to apologize."

Well…this  _was_  a first.

"I know you meant well by bringing Emma here. You were trying, in your own way, to make me happy. I get it." Bae looked down at his feet and shuffled them. "I just wanted to say that I…uh…I appreciate that you were thinking of me."

Rumple cocked his head, not quite sure what to make of this.

"You're welcome…?" he said.

Bae drew in a deep breath, looked supremely awkward for a moment, and then did something he hadn't done in years. He stepped forward and drew Rumple into a hug — a quick, tight embrace, not at all like the long, lingering hugs he'd given as a child when he'd looped his small arms around Rumple's neck. Still, it was so much more affection than had passed between the two in well-over a decade that it left Rumple off-kilter and not sure how to respond.

Thankfully, Bae didn't seem to expect a response.

He stepped away, nodded sharply, and went on his way, leaving his bemused father standing in the hallway.

Their estrangement had begun when Bae's mother, Milah, had left them.

Truthfully, their marriage had been crumbling long before she finally walked out the door, but Rumple had figured that she would stay for the boy's sake. Eventually, she'd started spending more and more time out of the home, until one day she simply never returned, leaving him to raise their son alone. He'd been furious, but back then had lacked the power to do anything about it. So, years later, after making the transformation from village coward to Lord and Dark One, he'd tracked her down, and found her in a tavern, laughing and drinking with a group of minstrels with whom she had apparently been traveling for some time. She'd frozen when she recognized him underneath all of the scale and sparkle of the Dark One's mantle; a moment that had given him the purest rush of satisfaction he had ever experienced.

Here was the woman who should have told him all along that he could be more, who should have been able to see the greatness buried inside of him. Instead, she had only nagged him to pick up and leave, to start over somewhere else, thinking perhaps she could make a new name for herself — being "Rumplestiltskin's wife" had never been good enough for her.

His delight at finally surprising her, however, was fleeting.

She'd quickly gathered her wits enough to escort him outside, where they'd argued, much as they always had.

She'd told him that she regretted leaving Bae behind, which he'd sincerely doubted, and that she'd taken up with one of the minstrels, which he'd been able to see for himself in the tavern was plainly true.

It had only been a few years. She had missed so many of Bae's firsts.

And for what? To bandy about the countryside, lifting her skirts for every handsome face? He'd been livid.

And when she'd responded to his anger by yelling back that she'd  _never_  loved him…

Rumple looked down at his hand, recalling how it had felt to crush Milah's heart, and then, minutes later, that of her lover as well.

He'd gone back to Bae, confident in his role as the dutiful parent, only to have their relationship begin to sour as well. He still wasn't sure exactly why. He'd used his power to give the boy everything he'd ever wanted. Safety. Wealth. All the creature comforts a person could desire. And still, it hadn't been enough.

Lately, he had begun to wonder if perhaps Bae took just a bit too much after his mother.

The heavy urn shifted under his arm, his grip on it having grown loose as his mind wandered.

Snapping back to attention, he hoisted it up again and set off back down the hall, toward his study.

It figured, he thought with a sigh, that he'd finally make some progress with his son, only to have to undo it all again. Bae wouldn't easily forgive him for putting Emma into the urn.

Perhaps he could afford to give it just one more day.

Emma wouldn't master her magic in that short a time, and he'd already let more than a week go by while he'd been occupied maneuvering the ogres about for Regina. What difference would one more day make? And if a day of his son's approval was all he'd ever get, he'd take it.

_Tomorrow._

Tomorrow he'd bottle the princess up for safe keeping.

Today, he'd let his son think the best of him.

* * *

Baelfire waited until he was sure his father had left before doubling back, the key he had lifted from Rumple's pocket clutched tight in his hand. He'd scoured the whole house and grounds looking for the dagger to no avail. There was only one place left it could be, and a big problem: Rumple almost never went into the vault, and kept it tightly locked at all times.

He'd half expected his father to catch on to his ruse when he'd gone in for a hug.

But Rumple had been too surprised to notice his son stealing the key to his vault. Just as he'd be surprised, Bae hoped, by his betrayal. He had never dared to stand up to his father like this before. That he sought the dagger probably hadn't entered into Rumple's darkest nightmares.

He had never been allowed into the vault before.

A thrill shot up his spine as he fitted the key in the lock and turned.

All of the windows in the vault had been bricked up, so it was dark, lit only by some enchanted wall-sconces letting off an unnatural, yellow light. Baelfire swallowed hard as he eased the door shut behind him, blocking out all the light from the hallway. Eyes wide, he took in the strange assortment of items before him. It stretched on seemingly forever, the gloom of the vault shrouding its depths. Close to the door, he noticed a shelf of thick, intricately bound books with yellowing pages, and beyond that stacks and rows of the strangest assortment of odds and ends he could imagine. Half of the items were covered with drop cloths, forming enigmatic shapes and shadows. A few — like a moldering skull and the preserved arm of a great, scaly beast — had him moving fast, eager to be back in the familiar hallways of the mansion and away from all this evidence of his father's depravity.

Surly, he kept the dagger here.

Somewhere…

Baelfire walked softly, afraid of disturbing something insidious.

He'd lost sight of the door when he came upon an old writing desk. A ledger lay open upon it, some of the writing recognizable to him as his father's hand, the rest a mishmash of other authors.

An account, listing everything in the vault.

He flipped a page, reading over it, doubtful that the dagger would be listed, but curious nonetheless and growing bolder.

Above the book sat a small, wooden box, the lock latched but not engaged. Not big enough to hold the dagger, but Bae flipped it open anyway.

A small, nearly translucent bean rested inside.

Bae scooped it up and held it in the palm of his hand. It felt ordinary. But he'd seen it in the ledger. He knew it was anything but.

He curled his finger around it and let out a sigh. There was so much here. Much more than he'd imagined. It would take days to sort through it all. He didn't know what his father intended to do with the urn he'd fetched, but Bae knew it meant that Emma was out of time. He had to do something now, or she'd be lost forever. And it would be all his fault.

He  _had_  to get her back to her family.

Determined, he continued to search.

* * *

Emma rubbed her hands together and bounced from one foot to the other. She taken the water glass Belle had brought with her breakfast and set on the floor in front of her. Bouncing around it, working up her energy, Emma tried to recall what she had been feeling in the moment that she had lit the lantern.

She stilled, closed her eyes, and thought of Killian.

A simple task — he was on her mind more often than not.

First, she imagined him as she had last seen him, lying prone on the deck of the  _Jolly Roger_ , and dredged up all the worry and fear that accompanied that image. She still had no idea if he was safe, though for her own sake, she often gave into comforting denial and reassured herself that none of what she'd seen could have been real, that Rumplestiltskin had manufactured the whole thing to see her do some magic. Something he'd come to regret, she told herself. He thought himself untouchable. But by tormenting her, he'd unwittingly given her a weapon. One she dearly meant to use.

Nothing magical stirred within her, so she relaxed a little and searched her mind for other memories.

Instinctively, she fell back to the times she had spent in Killian's bed.

Not the passionate ones — though a flicker of those memories triggered a flood of warmth deep in her belly — but afterward…to the times they had spent lying languid in each other's arms, the moon casting silver light through the window above his bed and the sea rocking them to sleep. Her palm itched to stroke the stubble on his cheek. Her fingers longed to knot themselves in his hair. And she wished, fervently, that before all of this had happened, she'd had the courage to tell him how she felt.

Something within her stirred to life.

In the calm of her cell, she was able to recognize the magic for what it was, collect it, and hold on.

She opened her eyes and looked at the cup.

With a soft pop, it blinked away, and reappeared across the room, by the door.

" _Boom!_ " she shouted and pumped a fist in the air.

A small thing, in comparison to the powers Rumplestiltskin wielded. But after many days spent conjuring small sparks and tiny flickers of magic, it struck her as a big advance.

For the rest of the day, she practiced.

Every time, it became easier, requiring less effort and less concentration. As the day wore down, night falling and casting her cell into darkness, she climbed into bed and lay there, feeling as if she was glowing with the strength of the power within her. It boggled her mind now that she had never noticed it before. It hummed just beneath the surface, a current running through her whole body.

Once she finally slept, she did so fitfully, drifting in and out of vivid dreams that left her sweaty and confused when she woke. Toward morning, she dreamed of fire and shot up in bed, convinced she had set the mattress ablaze in her sleep, only to find it was the sun coming up, shining through her window.

She had just settled in for another round with the cup when the door creaked open and Belle walked in, bereft her of usual tray of food.

"No breakfast today?" Emma asked.

"Actually, Rumple sent me to fetch you," Belle replied. "You'll be dining with him this morning."

Emma tensed. "Why?"

Belle shrugged. "Maybe he wants to talk to you about Bae."

Or he'd found some new torment for her.

Either way, she didn't have any choice in the matter. She had to go. Whatever Rumple had planned, she'd find a way to deal with it.

Belle escorted Emma through the halls, her pace leisurely and her attitude friendly, as if she truly believed that Emma would face little more than scrambled eggs and toast during her meeting with the Dark One. It baffled her how the woman, clearly intelligent and good-natured, seemed unable to see the evil lurking in her master.

They walked into Rumple's study to find him at the spinning wheel, turning out a fine golden thread. A small breakfast had been set out on the table in the middle of the room — the usual fare, same as Emma got every morning. Though she noticed that there were no place settings, no plates or cups or silverware. At the head of the table sat a large, silvery urn closed tight with a black stopper. She squinted, not sure what to make of it.

"Thank you, Belle." Rumple waved her away.

As Belle left, closing the door behind her, Emma stepped to the side, eager to keep the length of the table between herself the the Dark One. Last time, when she'd had the vision of Killian, he'd had to touch her to do his magic. Her best defense, she figured, rested in staying far out of reach. Across the room, he finished his spinning, letting a loop of golden thread come free in his hand.

"What do you want now?" she asked. "Going to try to convince me that my father is dead this time?"

Rumple laughed. "No, dearie. I have quite another use for you today."

He got up and walked toward her. She moved around the table in the opposite direction.

"I had hoped," he continued, "to use you to make my son the ruler of your kingdom, to give him power in his own right if he refused mine. But your magic brings up…other possibilities."

He stopped in front of the urn and rested both of his hands upon it.

"This will contain you until I can find a way to strip you of your magic," he explained. "I don't think you'll be aware of time passing while you're inside, but…" He shrugged. "I suppose you'll have to tell me someday when I let you back out again."

"What about Baelfire?" Emma asked with growing alarm. "I thought I was supposed to be his wife."

"He's made it quite clear that he doesn't want you."

"So you get to just put me on a shelf?" she demanded. "He's okay with that?"

Rumple shrugged and reached for the urn. "He'll come to understand."

As Rumple gripped the urn in one hand and worked the cap free with the other, Emma scanned the room for something —  _anything_  — she could use against him. But there was nothing. Not even a butter knife laid out upon the table. Heart pounding in her ears, she realized that there was only one thing that could help her…the very thing Rumple sought to steal — her magic.

She focused on the urn, on the fire in her veins, stoked to a roaring inferno by her fear.

Thinking of the cup she had practiced on in her cell, she focused on the urn, extended her hand, and flicked her fingers.

It vanished out of Rumple's grasp and appeared in her own.

Astonishment made both of them freeze.

_I did it._

Now what?

Rumple snarled, outrage making his reptilian skin shimmer and his golden eyes grow wide. It took her a second to recognize the undercurrent of fear in his expression — strange to her, since she had never seen it before — and to realize why.

Urgency made her sloppy as she rushed to uncap the urn, meaning to turn it on him.

Her hesitation was all Rumple needed. All that stood between her and freedom.

He put up a hand and her whole body froze.

"Clever," he admitted and walked around the table to retrieve the urn from her. "Managed to learn that in a week, did you? You're a quick study, dearie. Far too dangerous to keep around."

Her new sense of her own magic told Emma that the spell keeping her in place had its limits. She could sense it flung over her like a net — able to be stretched and broken if only she could find the right place to push. Desperate, she tried to locate a weak spot. But her efforts were more the frantic thrashing of a caged animal than the focused, deliberate dismantling she knew she needed.

There was nothing she could do as Rumple stepped back from her, turned the mouth of the urn toward her, and with great care, opened it up.

Immediately, a cold sensation washed across her body, as if someone had drenched her in ice water.

The dark mouth of the urn yawned open in front of her, growing, drawing her in.

Her feet no longer seemed to touch the floor. She had the sensation of sinking. Of melting. Of her entire being slipping into the darkness.

A voice called out, sounding far away.

"Stop!"

The darkness winked out, and she snapped back into her body, solid and breathless.

Disoriented, she reached out to grab onto the table to support herself. Rumple's freezing spell had been lifted so that she was free to move again. She blew some hair out of her face, and saw that the Baelfire stood in the open doorway to the study, a dagger clutched in his hand.

"Bae…" Rumple had his back to her, all of his focus on his son. "What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago," Bae replied. "I won't let you hurt her."

"I wasn't going to hurt her—"

"Don't lie to me, Papa." Bae held up the dagger, and Emma saw Rumplestiltskin's name inscribed across the blade. "Put that thing down and step away from it."

Rumple did exactly as he asked, putting down the urn with a thud on the table top and then stepping clear.

"All of your schemes stop right here, right now," Bae continued. "I forbid you to do any more magic."

If such a thing were possible — and Emma wouldn't have thought it was mere seconds before — Rumplestiltskin looked hurt, this treachery from his own flesh and blood evidently something that he had not only failed to foresee but failed to even imagine.

"And I order you, Dark One, to let her go," Bae added, then glanced to Emma and then flicked his head toward the door. She was already moving, but paused at his side to rest her hand on his arm. Rumplestiltskin would not stand for being under another's control for long. What would happen to Bae, she wondered, when he got the dagger back?

Bae shook his head at her. "Go."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Then, as fast as her legs could take her, she raced down the hallway, traveling generally in what she thought was the direction of the front door. When she found the front hall, she sprinted down a set of stairs, up to a huge set of double doors, and then out — finally,  _out_  — into the morning sun.

The chill in the air surprised her but registered only briefly as she flew down the wide, gravel roadway leading up to Rumple's estate. A lovely, well manicured lawn surrounded the house, complete with neatly shorn hedges, rosebushes, and rhododendrons. But beyond towered huge pines, the road spearing off into wilderness. To Emma, the woods appeared infinitely safer than Rumple's study. She ran straight into the trees, sticking first to the road, and then zagging off of it, keeping it in sight but sticking to the protective cover of the brush.

Lithe as a deer, she bounded through the forest, putting as much distance between herself and Rumplestiltskin as possible. Only when her calves began to ache, threatening to cramp, did she finally stop and drop to her knees in the soft pine needles layering the forest floor.

Gasping for breath, she crawled to a tree and leaned with her back against it.

The forest was quiet all around her, only the whisper of the wind moving through the pines and the thrumming of her heart breaking the silence. She closed her eyes and shivered at the thought of how close she had come to getting sucked into the blackness of the urn.

If Baelfire hadn't intervened when he did…

Calmer now, her body slowing, she shivered again — this time thanks to the crisp air, which cut straight through her borrowed dress. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked up at the sky. Spring was a warm and sunny season in her kingdom. Not so in Rumplestiltskin's.

Best to keep moving, she thought.

Emma gathered her strength and set out again.

All day, she walked. The road, which she kept far to her right, remained suspiciously clear of traffic.

Close to evening, she heard the steady burble of a stream.

The sound made her keenly aware of how dry her mouth had become and lit within her a sudden, desperate desire to drink. She crashed through the underbrush and skidded down a sharp embankment before hitting the sandy soil at the stream's edge. It was shallow and rocky, fast moving and clear. Dropping to her knees, she dipped her hand in the water and winced at how cold it was — barely above freezing.

She bent to drink, but stopped with her hand halfway to her mouth.

A noise in the trees behind her made her hunch low.

Something moving.

Something big.

_Ogre._

With nowhere to hide and no weapon to fight with, she ducked behind a skinny pine, the sap sticking to her fingers as she pressed up against it. Ogres weren't the smartest of beasts. With luck, it might not even notice her.

It came stomping up to the water a second later.

_Oh, hell…_

It was huge. Easily half as tall as the tree she was hiding behind. In its left hand, it carried a club, crudely fashioned out of an old log, several knotty branches still sticking off it at odd angles. Blood stained the bark on one side and something that looked disconcertingly like a tattered bit of flesh dangled from the end. The ogre swiveled its blocky head back and forth, looking up and downstream. Emma gathered her skirts and turned so that as much of her was hidden as possible and held her breath.

_Don't see me. Don't see me…_

She leaned back, trying to tuck more of her skirt behind the tree, and a twig snapped under her foot.

An answering roar made the ground tremble.

Emma peeked around the tree in time to see the ogre swing its club up over its shoulder and start toward her, each heavy step reverberating through her bones.

 _So much for luck_.

* * *

The Huntsman had stopped to water his horse at a rocky stream when he heard it — the sound of something coming through the brush. His instincts immediately informed him that it wasn't a deer, or bear, or any other number of forest creatures he knew. This one was sloppier. Two-footed. Human.

Collecting his horse, he'd urged it back, away from the water. This far into hostile territory, he didn't know what to expect.

It certainly wasn't what he saw a moment later.

Emma, the very object of his quest, had slid down the bank opposite him. She didn't stop to look around before heading straight to the water, evidently secure in believing that she was alone in the woods. Stunned by her sudden appearance, the Huntsman had stood and watched from his hiding place, a hand on his horse to steady it.

Had she escaped the Dark One?

He hadn't thought such a thing possible.

She'd just reached down to take a drink when the ogre showed up. His horse had twitched, wanting to bolt, but he'd managed to keep it still. They'd had a few run-ins with ogres on their way north, and the sturdy pony had proven a brave and dependable mount.

Emma had not been so lucky as to go unnoticed.

From his position across the water, he watched as the ogre spotted the princess, picked up its club, and advanced on her.

The cold, rational part of him told him to stay put and let the ogre do his job for him. He'd come all this way, after all, to fulfill his duty to the queen. Hadn't he?

As the ogre approached her hiding place behind a thin pine tree, the Huntsman saw Emma gather her courage. She rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, shook out her hands, and took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed. The image she struck touched him, quite against his will — the princess, clad only in a simple dress, her hair flowing free and lovely around her shoulders, unarmed and preparing to face the evil which stalked steadily toward her.

The ogre swung its club.

She ducked and rolled, the pine tree exploding into a shower of splinters above her.

Wasting no time, she regained her feet and raced around the beast, passing beneath its arm as it raised the club for a second blow.

The creature stared, stupefied at how its prey had vanished.

From behind, Emma grabbed hold of the fur it wore tossed over its shoulders and pulled.

For a moment, the ogre stumbled, and the Huntsman thought she might actually manage to bring it down. But, for all her effort, her weight was not enough. The ogre spun around, whipping her into the air and down onto her side on the sandy stream bank. The Huntsman watched as he might observe a bear taking down a deer — with a tinge of sadness accompanied by an all-encompassing awareness that this was the way things were…the way they  _had_  to be.

With an ugly roar, the ogre advanced on her.

Emma didn't cower, but she didn't rise either.

She flipped onto her back and held out her hands.

A blast of white knocked the ogre back a step.

The Huntsman saw it like a bolt of lightning, and an answering peal of thunder rolled through him, shaking him to his core.

With a gasp, he gripped his chest and bent forward onto his knees. An ache blossomed inside, one with a familiar flavor, as if he'd felt it before or maybe had been living with it for some time but had only just now noticed. Breathing through the sensation, willing it to abate, he forced himself to look up again at the princess, who was getting back to her feet to face her adversary once again.

Brave. Lovely. True.

Fighting for her life.

Long suppressed virtues set him alight in a riot of emotion that left him staggered.

 _I can't let her die_ , he realized, the thought rising up as if through a cloud of darkness.

His hand reached for his bow and arrow.

 _I_ won't _let her die._

* * *

The blast of white magic had surprised Emma almost as much as it had the ogre. It stumbled away from her, rubbing its eyes, the fur around its shoulders smoldering. Before it could gather its wits, Emma got to her feet, her palms and arms tingling. Her magic had bought her a few seconds, but she didn't think she had any hope of actually defeating the monster. Not without a sword.

So she ran.

The deep, sandy soil at the stream's edge slowed her down, her feet digging in deep with every hasty step. And then she was against the steep embankment, scrambling her way up the side.

Behind her, she heard the ogre coming.

And then, incredibly, a shout.

"Hey!"

Emma looked over her shoulder, and between the ogre's legs, she spied a man standing on the opposite bank. He was dressed in heavy furs and knee high boots, with a mop of messy brown hair that fell into his eyes. Jaw fixed in a hard line, he called out to the ogre again and waded into the swift moving water.

The ogre made a guttural noise of surprise as it pivoted.

In an instant, the man drew his bow and released an arrow.

It hit the ogre with a dull, wet thud.

For a brief, breathless moment, the creature wavered.

Then it toppled over. The monster's head came to rest right at Emma's feet, the fletched end of an arrow shaft protruding from its left eye.

"Are you hurt?"

She looked up from the ogre to see the man sloshing through the water toward her, his bow held loose at his side.

"No. I'm fine." She turned and pushed away from the dead ogre with her feet so that she could skid down to the level of the stream bed once more.

The ogre's legs separated her from the water, and she had to climb over them like fallen trees. The man proffered a hand to help her, but she didn't take it. Just because he'd saved her life didn't mean he wasn't working for the Dark One. Rumple wanted her magic, not her corpse.

She dusted off her clothes, pushed her hair back over her shoulders, and smiled politely.

"Thank you."

Though he returned the smile, he looked embarrassed.

"My name's Emma," she offered.

"Yes. The princess. I know."

"And you are…?"

"I'm…" He hesitated. "I'm a knight. And I'm here to help you."

The urge to insist that she didn't need any help got caught in Emma's throat. It was difficult to ignore the dead ogre behind her as a pretty glaring sign that,  _yeah_ , she might be in need of a little assistance.

She didn't sense any outright deception in his desire to help. The knight thing, however...

"This is not the first ogre I have confronted," he continued, his soft accent — not unlike Killian's — becoming apparent. "The forests here are thick with them. You won't make it traveling unarmed and alone."

He took a deep breath and met her eyes before unsheathing a knife from his belt and handing it to her.

"There's a village southeast of here. Small, but fortified. From there you should be able to find passage home."

Emma tested the weight of the knife in her hand, not sure yet whether she should trust this man, but the distant bellow of another ogre settled the matter.

"Okay," she said, nodding. "Let's go."


	15. In Which the Princess and Pirate Meet Again

Brief time had the Corsair to greet Gulnare,  
Few words to reassure the trembling Fair;  
For in that pause Compassion snatched from War,  
The foe before retiring, fast and far,  
With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued,  
First slowlier fled—then rallied—then withstood.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 15: In Which the Princess and Pirate Meet Again

The  _Jolly Roger_ 's timbers creaked and groaned, complaining of the ill treatment they had endured over the past week's worth of travel. Half a day out of Emma's kingdom, Killian had steered her into the gusty trade winds and had ridden them at full-sail ever since. The already fantastically swift ship covered the distance to Rumplestiltskin's kingdom in record time. But the constant stress of the waves and the wind had worn her down, fraying the sails and straining the recently repaired hull.

Still, Killian would have pushed the ship even harder if he could.

Every day spent at sea dragged into an eternity.

For a while, he'd occupied himself by fashioning a brace for his arm. What he managed to cobble together from the supplies onboard the ship was crude, and far from comfortable, but functional. At the end of the brace, he had affixed one of the ship's hooks. The polished metal looked harsh and cold where flesh should have been, but it allowed him to work the rigging and steer the ship, which, for now, was all that he required.

He stood at the wheel, guiding the ship along a rugged coastline punctuated by sheer cliffs and rocky islands. A warm wind from the southwest created a low, dense fog as it hit the cooler air rolling down from the distant, snow-capped mountains, blanketing the surface of the sea and much of the shore in a fine, white mist.

Ed walked over, an open map in his hands.

"Should be a town along this way soon. Looks big enough to have a decent port."

"Any port will do," Killian replied, "so long as it is close to the Dark One's castle."

"Yeah, well…that ain't on the map. But the locals will know where to find it, assuming anybody's left. This whole area got hit hard by the ogres back when the war first started. Could be this town doesn't even exist anymore, except by name."

Killian scowled. "If that's the case, then we will sail on to the next one."

He knew there had to be at least one hospitable place nearby to weigh anchor since they had passed several ships since entering the Dark One's domain. He could have stopped any of them in order to gather intelligence on his foe, or to replenish the  _Roger_ 's dwindling store of supplies, but he hadn't thought it worth the delay. All of the ships had given them a wide berth, the black and white pirate flag at the top of the mast clearing their path as they flew along the swiftest, most direct route north.

As day turned to evening, and with rain threatening on the horizon, they caught sight of the town on Ed's map.

It didn't look like much — certainly not a royal city, with no castle or other monument to break up the flat skyline — but it did indeed boast a large port hemmed in on either side by breakwaters. Killian had his men draw in the flag before he guided the ship through a narrow channel and into the calm waters of the harbor.

When they came to a stop and dropped anchor, the whole vessel groaned with relief.

"Where to now, Captain?" Turley asked.

Though he sounded willing to go to war then and there, the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. The other four remaining members of the crew stood beside him, looking equally ragged. Killian knew he probably hadn't fared much better. There had been little opportunity to sleep during the voyage and not much to eat other than hardtack and rum. They were all stretched thin.

"First order of business," he said with an authoritative lift of his chin, "is to secure a decent meal."

All five let out a grateful sigh.

He waved them toward the gangway. "You've all earned a moment's respite. Ed, lead the way."

The town's marina was well-maintained and efficiently organized — obviously a major source of income for the community. But as soon as they entered the town proper, Killian began to notice the scars of war. Many buildings stood empty, their windows boarded up. In other places, trees had been left where they'd fallen. Scorch marks climbed the walls of several houses. And the fountain which marked the center of the town square sat dry and abandoned, with only a couple of rock doves pecking about its base.

A cold drizzle began to fall as they came upon the tavern.

It was packed and rowdy, the din inside escaping into the street.

After a solid week at sea with only the barest company, Killian welcomed the boisterous chatter, the crackle of the hearth, and the mouth-watering scent of hot food. His men seemed to agree. Ed and Turley elbowed their way up to the bar and slapped down enough gold coins to get the attention of the pretty barmaid, while Mullins, Scourie, and Black Murphy secured a table.

The food that arrived some minutes later made every one of them groan.

Killian scraped his plate clean before washing it all down with a long draught of ale. His stomach finally full, he propped his hook-arm on the table and leaned back in his chair, opening up his ears to the conversations going on around him.

He'd learned long ago that taverns tended to be excellent places to reconnoiter — their patrons' tongues loose and their time easily bought.

One by one, he sent his men out into the throng to join in games of dice, to buddy up to those already three sheets to the wind, and to buy an extra round for those who appeared talkative but far too sober. It was a tactic he'd used frequently in the past, and the whole crew was well-practiced at it.

By the end of the evening, he aimed to have the location of the Dark One's castle.

Killian was about to get up and join in the effort himself when a man pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. He was tall, with well-coiffed black hair and a chiseled face. His red shirt barely stretched far enough to accommodate the massive width of his shoulders.

He stuck out a meaty hand. "The name's Gaston."

"Is there something I can do for you, mate?" Killian asked, ignoring the gesture.

"It's more what  _I_  can do for  _you_ ," Gaston replied, seemingly unfazed by Killian's brusqueness. "I overheard one of your men. Seems you have some interest in the Dark One."

Killian's back straightened a fraction. "So?"

"So, people who are looking for deals or favors don't usually try to be subtle about it. I'm guessing you have some other sort of business in mind."

Gaston flashed a grin that was all teeth, obviously proud of his deduction and so confident in it that didn't give Killian time to either confirm or deny it before he barreled on.

"He controls these lands, you know. Keeps the ogres at bay. No one here is going to help you find him. No one is willing to risk the Dark One's wrath by guiding an unwelcome guest to his door. No one, that is, except for me."

Killian arched an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"We have a history."

"Is that so? A deal gone sour?" Killian guessed.

"No." Gaston's fist clenched. "A woman. The most beautiful woman in the kingdom. She was to be mine until he demanded her as payment for protection from the ogres."

"And you think maybe I can help get her back?"

Gaston shrugged. "I'd settle for just knowing I'd hurt the bastard."

Careful to school his expression, Killian considered how to respond. Perhaps some of Emma's affinity for detecting lies had rubbed off on him during their time together, because he had a strong sense that Gaston was telling the truth. Plus, the man simply didn't look cunning enough to be one of the Dark One's agents.

"It's possible you could be of use to me," he finally said, voice low.

"Excellent! Welcome to Team Gaston! You've made a wise choice, I assure you. You know what they say!" He pumped one fist back and forth and continued in a sing-song voice: "No one's slick as Gaston. No one's quick as Gaston. No one's got such a great big di—"

He cut himself off with a chuckle, and Killian instantly began to regret his decision.

"What should I call you, by the way?" Gaston glanced down to where Killian's arm rested on the table between them and smirked. "Wait. Let me guess. Hook?"

Killian leveled a glare at him. "Captain."

"Alright,  _Captain_  Hook. Meet me in the town square at dawn, and I will take you straight to the Dark One's door."

With a cocky grin, he shoved his chair out and walked away, over toward the fire where a short, greasy looking guy waited for him with a full flagon of ale.

Trusting him was a risk. But there was no going back now. Killian had to find Emma, and quickly.

A flick of his fingers called his men back to him.

What they needed right now was a solid night's sleep.

Tomorrow, they'd go to face the beast.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin looked across the table at his son, the resentment simmering in his gut considerably warmer than the weak bowl of stew sitting in front of him. With Bae's ban on magic, they'd had to resort to ordinary means to make their meal. Belle had done her best, but as the daughter of a wealthy lord, she'd never had any need to learn her way around a kitchen. Rumple had some skills left over from his life before becoming the Dark One, but he had refused to assist. So they all sat, sipping tentatively at a watery mixture of soggy meat, flavorless potatoes, and undercooked carrots.

"Would you like some more?" Belle asked when Bae managed to choke down the last of his helping.

"Oh! Uh…" He wiped his mouth with a napkin, probably to hide the way he gagged at the suggestion. "No thanks. I'm full."

Belle sighed and dropped her hands into her lap. "I know it's not very good. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Bae insisted. "Really. And anyway, it's the company that matters. Right?" He smiled gamely at them. "I think this is the first real family dinner we've ever had. No frills. No magic. No hostages. Just us. Like it used to be."

Rumple leaned against the arm of his chair, not even bothering to hide his aggravation. "Yes. I know I certainly miss the way things  _used to be_. Tell me, Son — do you plan to move us back into that hovel as well?"

Belle shot him a look.

"I haven't decided yet," Bae replied sharply. "But that  _hovel_  was more a home to me than this place ever has been."

He got up from the table and stalked away. A brief flicker of regret sparked in Rumple — he had no real desire to  _hurt_  his son — but it was quickly stifled by the weight of his anger. Baelfire had betrayed him. So what if the boy's feelings were a little hurt?

"You know, he's only doing this because he loves you," Belle said as she gathered the dishes. "He wants his father back."

"I don't have to be powerless to be a father," Rumple pointed out.

She walked over and perched on the edge of the table next to him, her hands clasped in her lap and her brown curls spilling over her shoulders. "Maybe you don't need your magic as much as you think."

Ahh. Innocent Belle. She had no idea of the enemies he'd made.

They'd come for him eventually, and he meant to have his magic back before that happened.

Leaning over, he reached out to take her hand.

"You don't understand," he said gently. "Without my magic, I can't protect this house or these lands. Since you came to live here, I've been true to my word. I've kept your family safe. But so long as Bae forbids me to use my magic, I can't do that anymore. The ogres will return."

Belle's face went white.

She had a painful history with ogres, of which Rumple was keenly aware — he'd orchestrated the attack that had killed her mother, after all. The mere suggestion of the creatures coming back to menace her family once more terrified her.

"I hadn't thought…" She swallowed hard. "I mean…maybe the ogres won't even realize you're not protecting this land anymore. Maybe they won't even try to attack."

"They will," he assured her. "And they'll come here, too."

Now that the creatures were free of his control, he had no doubt about that.

Belle shook her head. "There has to a way to help them."

"There is. I need my magic back."

"I'm sure if we explain what's at stake to Bae, he'll—"

"No." Rumple shook his head. "He won't understand. He hates magic. There's one only thing we can do."

Her eyes searched his, wide and distraught and willing to believe. "What?"

"You have to steal my dagger back."

"Steal?" She tugged her hand free of his. "I don't know…"

He caught her again and pulled her closer this time. "It's not for me, Belle. You can keep the dagger. You can control it. But you need to give me leave to use my magic. I need it. To protect you. And Bae. And everyone on my lands. Just like I promised I would."

Her teeth worried at her bottom lip. "Bae would never forgive me."

"Would you ever forgive yourself if something happened to your family?" he asked.

She considered it for a long moment, the decision obviously a painful one for her, before she nodded. "Okay. I'll get your dagger back. But  _only_  so that you can fight the ogres!"

"Of course." He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and murmured his thanks against her skin.

The triumphant grin, he saved until after she had left.

* * *

The forest went from chilly to cold as evening fell, made worse by the light rain that moved in. Emma and the knight stopped for the night under the protection of a large evergreen close to the road, and he loaned her a heavy fur cloak, which she huddled gratefully underneath as he made camp.

"Won't that attract ogres?" she asked when he began piling kindling for a fire.

He shrugged. "Maybe. But their vision is poor. It shouldn't be too risky if we keep it small."

The horse grazed nearby while the knight made a quick supper. Although Emma still had doubts about how much she could trust him, she had to admit that she was glad for his company. The woods here were thick and wild, the road not well-traveled. She hesitated to think of how she'd have spent the night if she'd been on her own.

"I still don't know who sent you," she said, disrupting the silence that had fallen between them as they ate. "Not my parents. If you really are a knight, you're not one of ours."

"No," he agreed. "I was not sent by your parents."

Underneath her cloak, Emma wrapped her hand around the hilt of her knife.

"Then who?"

He swallowed hard and met her eyes.

"Regina."

Emma was on her feet in an instant, whipping out her blade.

"Wait!" He stood too, both hands held out in supplication. "I know how that sounds! But I'm not going to hurt you! I swear!"

She sensed truth in his words, but it didn't make her drop her guard or lower her knife.

"You have thirty seconds to explain. And I'd better believe you."

He nodded and licked his lips. "I've been following you for some time. I was on the ship sent to intercept yours. My orders were to board your ship and take you — alive if possible, but I had leave to kill you if it came to that — and then return you to the Queen. But the pirate got to you first."

So, Killian really  _had_  saved her life that day…

"My ship continued to pursue yours," he continued. "We chased you all the way to the pirate city."

"That corvette..." Emma murmured, realization dawning. "The one that sank my father's frigate! That was  _you_?"

His brows bent into a troubled line. "Yeah. I think so. I mean…I'm sorry. My memory is a little hazy…"

"You don't remember killing an entire ship's worth of people?"

"I remember it. But it's vague. Like it wasn't me."

Was this guy insane? If telling her this was supposed to make her trust him, it sure as hell wasn't working.

"You obviously don't have any problems with murder," she said. "So why haven't you killed me? What are you waiting for?"

He could have let the ogre do away with her, after all. Why bother to step in? Did he just not want to be troubled with hauling her dead body out of the woods and preferred to have her walk there first?

"I'm not sure. There's something about you…" His hand trailed absentmindedly to his chest and paused over his heart. "For a long time now, I've had this emptiness inside. I don't think I even realized it until I saw you on the deck of that ship, fighting Rumplestiltskin. Watching you, I suddenly  _felt_  something."

Emma shook her head, confused. "What are you trying to say? That you're in love with me?"

"No. It's not like that."

He took a step toward her, but Emma held up the knife, holding him off.

"It's hard to explain," he said gently. "It happened again when you were fighting the ogre. But stronger. There was a flash of white light, and then I just felt  _everything_. Like I'd lived my life without any emotions at all until that moment."

So, it wasn't  _her_  that had affected him after all.

It had been her true love magic.

Was he cursed?

Emma wouldn't put it past Regina to cast spells on her lackeys, turning them into heartless monsters willing to do her bidding.

The thought made her pause, her mind stuck on the word:  _heartless_.

Rumplestiltskin had tried to take hers. What might she have been like, she wondered, if he'd succeeded? A shell of a person, bereft of emotion? Someone easy to control? Someone like the man standing across from her? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Regina had taken a heart before. Liam's.

"Do you believe me?" he asked.

She did. He hadn't lied to her. But that didn't mean she could trust him. Especially if Regina had him under a spell. Her hold on him had already driven him to kill. It could happen again.

Despite that, she needed him. For now.

Slowly, she lowered the knife and sat back down by the fire.

"Do you have a name?" she asked.

He let out a long sigh of relief. "Yes. Graham."

She gathered the cloak protectively back around her. "We should probably get some sleep."

"Of course. If we start out again at sunrise, we should reach the village by midday."

After seeing to the horse one last time, Graham smothered the fire, dropping the camp into darkness.

The unforgiving ground made a poor bed. Between the rocks, the damp, the ever-present threat of ogres, and her questionable companion, Emma struggled to relax. Lying awake, she listened to the steady pitter-pat of the rain. To her right, the horse eventually stilled and slept. Graham appeared to drift off as well, his back turned to her. He seemed at ease stretched out on the forest floor. Emma got the impression he'd bedded down in the woods often, and not just in his quest to find her. He looked far too at home.

She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, letting her mind wander.

Sometime in the depths of the night, a noise roused her.

She snapped suddenly to attention, not sure if she'd drifted off or not, her brain foggy.

Graham sat up, too.

"Ogres," he whispered.

Emma reached for her knife which had fallen out of her hand.

Graham pressed a finger to his lips and waved her over.

Pine needles cushioned her steps as she crept silently around the ashes of their fire. When she reached his side, Graham drew his bow and nocked an arrow. Then they crouched low behind a patch of thick brush and waited. In the shadows beside them, the horse stood still as stone, only its ears swiveling.

The rain had stopped. All was silence.

And then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Heavy…plodding. Coming their way.

An ogre strode into view, illuminated by the silver light of the moon. It slipped through the forest with surprising speed, turning its shoulders with each step in order to fit between the trees and hunching over to avoid low branches. It moved past them and onto the road without so much as a sideways glance.

Emma went to let out the breath she'd been holding, but sucked it back in when she heard another coming.

And this one wasn't alone.

Five ogres, grouped more or less together, were heading straight toward them.

Where were they all going in the middle of the night? she wondered. Even ogres needed sleep. What could be so important to get them all up and moving at such an ungodly hour?

The first passed so close to Emma that she could have thrown a rock and hit it. She and Graham pressed closer together. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as the second walked past, loose pine needles falling down onto Emma's head as the trees themselves shuddered.

_Two down, three to go…_

A distant roar echoed through the night.

The sudden noise made Emma flinch, and next to her the horse tossed its head and let out a snort.

All of the ogres froze.

Graham was the first to move.

He burst from their hiding place and loosed his arrow. It flew fast and true, lodging deep in the nearest ogre's throat.

The creature thrashed and gurgled, stumbling into the ogre behind it.

"Run!" Graham yelled.

Emma saw the ogre pull the arrow free with a black spray of blood before she turned and fled.

Ahead of her, Graham launched up into the saddle, then reached over his shoulder for another arrow. Emma felt helpless in comparison with nothing but her small knife.

The heavy cloak around her shoulders caught on the brush, yanking her back. Her fingers fumbled desperately at the clasp at her throat. It sprang open and the cloak fell free right as Graham turned the horse and fired another arrow.

It flew toward one of the ogres that had turned around and was coming back from the road but went wide and missed its mark.

"Hurry!" Graham held out a hand to her.

Emma reached for him, then had to sidestep away when the horse whinnied and hopped.

An ogre's club smashed down onto the ground where she'd just been standing.

She took off on foot, bolting for the deep woods.

The pounding of hooves quickly came up behind her, followed by an ogre's angry bellow.

"Emma!"

She swung around.

The horse's hooves threw up a cloud of dust and debris as it skidded to a stop. Again, Graham offered his hand. With all of the ogres not far behind, she didn't hesitate to grab it. Graham pulled her up into the saddle behind him with a hard, fast tug. She barely had time to find her seat, her arms locking around his waist, before he kicked the horse into a gallop.

Though she had some skill as a rider, Emma struggled to move with the horse. Her position — nearly on top of the animal's rump — made it difficult for her to find a rhythm, and she ended up getting bounced along.

Even with her unwieldy weight to contend with, the horse moved faster through the trees than the huge ogres and swiftly outpaced them.

The horse's sides were heaving when Graham finally reined it in, the ogres long lost behind them.

"What the hell was  _that_?" Emma said. "Where were they all going?"

Graham shrugged. "They were heading toward the road, so the same place as us, I'd guess. But that doesn't make sense. These lands are under the Dark One's protection."

"Yeah. About that…. The Dark One might be a little…um…indisposed right now," she admitted with a wince.

He turned and looked at her, eyes wide with surprise.

"It's a long story. One we don't have time for if we're going to help those people. They have no idea they're vulnerable. They won't be ready for an attack."

The leather of the saddle creaked as he turned back around and lifted the reins.

"Okay then." His leg bumped hers as he nudged the horse. "Let's get moving."

* * *

Killian woke to the sound of distant screams.

His room at the inn was still dark, the dim gray of dawn barely outlining the window above the bed. He sat up and reached instinctively for his cutlass, which he had left standing on end between the mattress and the nightstand. His training as a captain had him out of bed and pulling on his boots before he'd even processed what he'd heard.

Cries of terror.

In the hallway, he met Ed and Turley. Farther down, the rest of his men emerged from their rooms as well.

"What's going on?" Turley asked as they clamored down the stairs.

Killian shook his head. "I've no bloody idea!"

They raced out the front door and into the street. In the distance, Killian heard shouting followed by a tremendous noise from the eastern side of the city — toward the border it shared with the forest. He started in the direction of the trouble but paused when a man in his dressing gown appeared at the end of the street. The man looked around wildly for a second, then came running in their direction.

"You there!" Killian stepped in front of him and held out his hand. "What's going on?"

"Ogres!" the man gasped. "Breached the wall!"

Surprised, Killian didn't move to stop him as the man shouldered past and continued to run.

"I don't get it," Turley said behind him. "Doesn't Rumplestiltskin protect this town from ogres?"

"Aye." Killian gritted his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. The timing of this attack was a little too perfect. Almost as if  _someone_  had told the Dark One of their arrival.

Someone like Gaston.

Killian scowled. If Rumplestiltskin had sent the foul beasts to keep him from getting to Emma, it wasn't going to work.

Gripping his sword tight, he waved his men after him and started down the street, heading toward the now constant clamor of battle. So far as he knew, there was only one way out of town — one main gate through which all traffic flowed. He hoped the attack would provide them enough cover to slip out unnoticed by whatever eyes and ears Rumplestiltskin had within the town. The problem remained of finding the Dark One's castle. But with such a swift response to his arrival, surely they had to be close.

It didn't take long to find the gate.

And what he saw there made him come up short.

A large portion of the wall separating the town from the wild growth of trees beyond lay in ruin, with huge stones strewn about the street. The gate itself had been torn from its housing and knocked flat onto the ground, the archway above it shattered. An ogre stood in the gap, brandishing a club fashioned from a tree trunk, with four others already through.

A small band of soldiers had mounted a defense, with three positioned on buildings near the wall, their arrows providing loose cover for the handful of men on the ground. It wasn't enough. More arrows missed their mark than not. And, as Killian and his crew arrived, one of the foot soldiers was batted aside and hit the wall with an audible crunch.

The ogre tilted its head back and roared, the sinews in its neck stretching and spittle flying.

The damned things were  _massive_.

"Bloody hell," Ed swore.

Killian silently agreed with his comrade's assessment of the situation.

With the ogres blocking the only path out of town, there was no way they'd be able to simply slip out. And, worse, the town itself was proving woefully unprepared for such an assault. These few men were the best they could muster? The soldiers clearly had the heart necessary for war, but not the skill. They had grown complacent in their safety under the Dark One. Lax and out of practice.

"They don't stand a chance," Turley said.

Killian flinched as another soldier took a hit, uncomfortably aware of the fact that, in all likelihood, these creatures were here because of  _him_. With no one to stop them, they'd kill and smash their way through town until there was nothing left.

He lifted his sword. "We have to do something. This won't stop here. The ogres will destroy everything, including the  _Jolly Roger_  if they get to the docks."

And then they'd be stranded in Rumplestiltskin's domain.

That roused a grumble of agreement from the crew, the five of them shifting, girding themselves for battle.

"If these monsters are all that stands between us and Emma, then, by the gods, we'll go straight through them!"

With a shout, Killian ran into the melee, his men not far behind.

He darted toward the closest beast and ducked underneath it in order to slash at its ankles. His sword caught mostly the monster's crude, leather boot, but he felt a tendon tear and saw a splash of blood as the ogre pitched forward onto one knee.

He spun around and stabbed, sinking a blow deep into the ogre's side. It bellowed and jerked away. As his blade pulled free of the wound, Scourie and Mullins joined him, falling upon the ogre with pitched cries. Together, the three of them overwhelmed the beast, brought it to heel, and killed it.

Winded, Killian looked up to see Turley, Ed, and Black Murphy engaged with another ogre while the soldiers handled the other three, all of them slipping and sliding in the muddy mess amidst the rubble of the wall.

Killian rushed to help his crew.

They had their ogre down on the ground, nearly dispatched, when Ed straightened and shouted, "Look out, Captain!"

Just in time, Killian turned to see a club swinging toward him. He dove out of the way, rolling through the mud.

As he scrambled back to his feet in the muck, he moved to stab at whatever part of the creature presented itself, but an arrow whistled over his head and lodged deep into the monster's shoulder, throwing it back a step. Another arrow quickly followed, catching it full in the face. Killian had to leap out of the way to avoid being crushed by the ogre as it fell.

He glanced up, expecting one of the northern archers, and instead saw that his rescuer was a man on horseback, stopped underneath what remained of the town gate, a furred cloak slung over his shoulders and someone's arms wrapped around his middle.

Where the hell had  _he_  come from? Killian wondered. Beyond the wall?

The man sent him a brief nod of acknowledgement. Then the person riding behind him let go and swung down onto the ground.

A woman, Killian realized with a flash of surprise. Blonde. And dressed in blue.

She held out a short dagger — apparently the only weapon she had to fight with — and quickly surveyed the scene. When she turned so that Killian could see her face, his heart nearly stopped.

_Emma_.

The horseman kicked his mount into a canter, moving between them with another arrow drawn and ready.

Emma glanced his way, her attention drawn by the horse.

At first, her gaze skipped across him. But it took only a second for what she'd seen to register. She looked back at him, her mouth dropping open with astonishment. They stood that way for a second, staring at one another, as battle raged around them.

"Killian?" Emma's astonishment transformed in an instant to joy. "Gods… _Killian_!"

She ran toward him. And he toward her…

Only to have an ogre stomp between them with a spray of mud.

With just a dagger to defend herself, Emma didn't stand a chance against such a foe. Heart pounding with fear for her, Killian lifted his sword and shouted, "Hey! You want to kill a human? Kill me!"

Thankfully, the ogre was easily distracted by his menacing and began to stalk toward him. He flexed his fingers, testing his grip on his sword, ready to fight.

Until a blast of blinding, white light flared from behind the ogre's back.

It dropped its club and pawed at the lingering whorls of fiery white that raced around to the front of its chest and up the column of its throat, leaving burned trails of skin and fur in their wake.

Another flash of light dropped it to the ground, a smoking ruin.

Emma stood behind it, both of her hands held out, her chest heaving.

Had that come from  _her_?

He didn't have the time to dwell on it.

Two more ogres remained — one of them bristling with arrows but powering past the soldiers. Emma took one look at it, intent on making its way farther into the city, and moved to intercept it. Killian stuck close by, not wanting to be separated from her again, but she didn't need his help.

With her magic, she made short work of the ogres.

She stood before the last one to fall as a hush descended upon the battlefield, her hair falling wildly about her shoulders.

Without a thought for the mud that caked him or the destruction all around them, Killian strode up to her, pulled her into a fierce embrace, and kissed her with all of the passion and longing that he had suffered over their long separation — deep and hard and hungry. Her lips were soft and welcoming under his. Everything he remembered and more. A vibrant energy danced through him, setting him ablaze with his love for her.

_Gods_ , he'd missed her.

He broke from her mouth to trail open-mouthed kisses across her cheek, down to her jaw and the side of her neck. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she rose up on her toes as she clutched him tight. He drew in a long, grateful breath, her hair tickling his face.

After a moment, she pushed him back just enough to look into his eyes. "I was going to ask if it was really you," she admitted. "But…I know how you kiss."

He smiled and let his forehead rest against hers.

He had a thousand questions, but they could wait. Right now, all he wanted to do was drink her in.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she said.

His heart ached. "I know how you feel, love."

Her long lashes fluttered and her lips parted on a fragile smile. "Do you?"

He didn't get the chance to reply.

"Emma! Your Highness!" Ed came jogging up to them, Turley and the others not far behind. "What are you doing here?"

" _Me_?" She let go of Killian in order to accept a brief hug from the man. "What about  _you_? Did the whole crew come?"

"Most of us."

"Isn't often we pirates get to play at being heroes, you know," Turley added.

Townsfolk had begun to gather, everyone inspecting the damage. Killian was not surprised to spot Gaston among them — though he hadn't seen the man bother to engage in any of the fighting.

"You see," he was saying, waving a gloved hand about. "The Dark One has betrayed us, just as I said he would! We gave him everything he asked for, and still he turned his back on us and left us to die!" People gathered around him, muttering and nodding, an undercurrent of anger quickly heating from a slow simmer to a rolling boil.

Brows drawn, Emma stepped forward to confront him. "That's not true. Rumplestiltskin did not break his deal with you. Not intentionally, anyway."

Gaston looked her up and down with a critical eye, a scowl on his face. "How would you know?"

"I just came from his castle. He didn't  _decide_  to stop protecting you. The problem is that he  _can't_. He's powerless."

It was the wrong thing to say. Gaston's mouth curled into a wicked grin, and he held up a clenched fist. "Even better! We've shared our lands with him for too long! He attracts all manner of evil here! Best to be done with him! We should go to his door, retrieve Belle, and kill the beast! We won't truly be safe until his head is mounted on my wall!"

"What you  _should_  be doing is building up your defenses against the ogres," Emma replied sharply. "Without the Dark One to protect you, the whole city will be overrun."

"She's right."

The man Emma had ridden into town with came around from behind Gaston, leading his horse.

"We traveled through the forest to get here," he continued. "The ogres are all moving this way. More are coming."

Gaston shrugged. "We handled these ones just fine on our own."

"Only because  _we_  showed up to help," Emma said.

Gaston fixed her with a surprisingly cunning glare. "And just who  _are_  you anyway, Witch?"

Utter outrage flashed across Emma's face. "The person who just saved all of your lives."

"With magic," Gaston replied. "You say you came from the Dark One's castle. Are you in league with him?"

"Of course not!"

"Then maybe  _you're_  the reason he lost his magic! The reason these ogres are here to begin with! Another in a long list of monsters plaguing these lands!"

Emma stepped forward, fists clenched, but Killian held out a hand to stop her.

"Let it go, love."

The horseman nodded. "It might be best to get out of here before the whole crowd turns on you. They're going to be looking for someone to blame."

He was right. All around Gaston, more than a few townsfolk were casting angry glances in Emma's direction.

Killian laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "You've done what you can here. Plus, you have more important matters to tend to. Your family needs you."

Her attention snapped to him.

"Why? What's happened."

As they walked away, Gaston turned his attention back to whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Killian had no doubt the man would find a whole mob of people willing to follow him to the Dark One's door, and, quite honestly, might have joined their ranks himself — the pirate in him desperately wanted vengeance for the loss of his hand — but Emma meant more, and right now, she needed him.

"It's Regina," he told her. "She has taken your place in the castle."

" _What_? Taken my place? How?"

"Using some sort of glamour."

She picked up her pace, nearly breaking into a run. "I have to get back there. You came on the  _Jolly Roger_ , right? We need to set sail immediately."

Killian caught her hand to slow her down. "We can't do that. Not right away. The  _Roger_  is in no condition to sail. We used up all of our supplies getting here. She needs to be restocked before we can attempt a return trip. And there are repairs that need done as well."

Emma's face fell. "How long will that take?"

"Half a day, at least, m'lady," Ed replied.

Slightly less than that if they merely commandeered the necessary supplies from another ship rather than purchasing them; but, even accounting for her overwhelming need to return to her family, Killian wasn't sure that the time saved would be enough for Emma to condone forcible theft.

"I do not believe Regina wants to see your parents dead," he told her, hoping to ease the worst of her fears. "She could have dispatched with them long before now if that was her plan. She is playing some longer game — one we may still have time to disrupt."

Emma glanced to the horseman, who nodded his agreement.

That she looked to him for reassurance made Killian's stomach twist. Just how long had they been traveling together? Already, the man appeared to have earned her trust and respect — no simple feat.

"Just who the hell are you, anyway?" Mullins asked, saving Killian from having to do so himself.

"This is Graham," Emma said. "He's a...a knight."

He looked more like a woodsman than a knight, dressed in doeskin pants, high boots, and with a quiver slung across his back. Something suspiciously like jealousy stirred within Killian as he recalled the way they had rode in together, with Emma's arms looped around the man's middle.

Swallowing back his immediate dislike for this Graham  _person_ , Killian made an open gesture to him with his hook. "Well, any friend of Emma's is welcome on my ship."

Graham smoothed a hand down the horse's neck. "Thanks for the invitation, but I need to find the stables first. This fellow here has more than earned a good meal and a solid night's rest."

"He isn't the only one," Emma admitted. "Is there somewhere a girl can get a bite to eat in this town?"

"Of course."

They stopped in front of the tavern, Ed taking the rest of the crew back to the ship to begin work, while Graham followed Emma and Killian inside long enough to ask for directions before finally leaving them alone. Taking note of her obvious exhaustion, Killian purchased everything he needed to put together a meal for her back on the ship, then offered Emma his arm as they left.

It was a testament to her weariness that she leaned into him as they walked, her arm tightening around his and her head bobbing as if tempted to rest on his shoulder.

When they arrived at the  _Jolly Roger_ , she sighed as if returning home after a long trip. His heart swelled to hear it.

Turley was already hard at work mending the sails while Mullins inspected the hull.

Killian called out to the latter. "How's she look?"

"Not so bad as I feared," Mullins called back. "Shouldn't take more than a couple hours' work."

Excellent news.

He was eager to return to Emma's kingdom as well, and not just for her sake. He'd let go of his revenge. But he worried about the men he'd left behind, and about Emma's family as well. He'd liked the king well enough (at least for that brief moment in which David had stopped trying to have him executed), and genuinely didn't want to see any harm come to the royal family. From what he could tell, they ruled with grace and honesty — something he'd near given up on finding in a king or queen.

As he followed Emma down the ladder into his cabin, he thought back to the moment they had first met, when he'd come down into this very room to introduce himself to the princess he'd abducted. She'd looked at him with such strength and defiance, her beauty more than matched by the fire and light within.

He'd been besotted from the start.

With a casual ease that jarred him from his memories of their first meeting, Emma walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a fresh change of clothes. She kicked off her shoes and stretched so that her bare toes curled against the floorboards. The sound she made — a low, breathy groan — sent a shiver racing down his spine.

As she began unlacing the front of her dress, he turned away to shuck his own muddy coat to the floor, but not before catching a tantalizing glimpse of the gentle swell of her breasts pushing against the thin, white chemise she wore underneath.

Her time in Rumplestiltskin's care hadn't seemed to harm her any — physically, at least. She appeared as unmarked and flawless as the last time he had seen her, all cream and sunshine and vitality.

The same could not be said for him.

Mouth dry, and suddenly very aware of his hook and it's unfortunate limitations, he busied himself with laying out their meal while she finished. He'd learned, for the most part, how to haul lines and dress himself one handed. But Emma presented a new challenge. One he didn't want to bumble his way through. Such uncertainty was unfamiliar to him. He'd always been a confident lover, even when he'd been relatively inexperienced.

Refreshed in her plain — blessedly  _simple_  — white shift, Emma joined him at the small table and, over a heaping plate of food and a large jug of water, began to tell him what had transpired since Rumplestiltskin had taken her.

"This Baelfire…he's the one you intended to marry?" he asked when she mentioned the Dark One's son.

"Yes. But — no. I never intended to marry him. Not that I was going to have any say in it, apparently. Rumple made it very clear that playing wife to his son was  _not_  optional."

"So…" Killian had to clear his throat. "Did you?"

He'd forgive her, of course, and learn to live with it if she had — she'd needed to do what was necessary to survive — but the idea of her spending any amount of time warming another man's bed pained him more than he cared to admit.

She shrugged, not even looking up from her food. "He didn't want me."

Didn't  _want_  her? Was such a thing possible?

"Sounds like a bloody fool."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Maybe. But he saved me. There's this dagger — whoever holds it can control the Dark One. Bae found it. And he commanded Rumplestiltskin to let me go."

Killian nodded, then leaned back in his chair, trying to look casual. "And the knight?"

"Graham?"

"Aye. Where does he fit in?"

"He saved me from ogres in the woods."

"Ah." His hand formed a fist on the tabletop. "Another dashing rescue."

Emma set her spoon down and glanced up at him. "Are you…?" Her eyes searched his, a spark of mirth making her sit up straighter. "Are you jealous?"

"Just aware of the effect that being whisked from the clutches of certain peril has on you," he replied with so much forced nonchalance that it came out clipped and sharp.

Emma's foot bumped his under the table. "Disappointed that you didn't get to do any of the rescuing yourself?"

The non-committal noise he responded with made her laugh.

"Well, you don't need to worry about Graham," she finally said.

"Why's that?"

"Because he's one of  _Regina's_  knights. She sent him to kill me."

While she relayed the story of her flight through the forest with Graham, and what he'd told her of his past, Killian's dislike for the man only grew. Not only had he spent weeks trying to kill Emma, he'd shot the  _Jolly Roger_  full of holes in the process.

"You can't trust him," Killian said once she'd finished. "Even if he helped you, he's still one of Regina's agents."

"She did something to him. I'm sure of it. I think maybe she pulled out his heart."

_Like with Liam._

"All the more reason you can't trust him."

"I know." She sighed and pushed her hair behind her ears with both hands. "We can't take him with us. I was thinking he could stay here. These people need all the help they can get preparing for the next ogre attack."

A smart plan.

And, speaking of ogres…

She hadn't made any mention yet of her newly acquired magic. He burned to ask about it, but kept his questions to himself. Hopefully, she'd tell him when she was ready.

"What about you?" she asked. "What happened after Rumple took me?"

"My injury was tended to," he began, "and then I was detained and taken to the dungeon."

Her eyes went wide. "My parents had you arrested?"

"Regina had convinced them that my abduction of you was less than noble. They truly believed that I had hurt you and intended to hold me accountable for it. I think Regina saw my imprisonment as an opportunity to be rid of me. She weaved quite the troubled tale of your time on my ship."

"Did you see her?" Emma asked suddenly. "Regina, I mean. As me."

"Aye." He averted his eyes to look down at the table, not sure how much of the next part to tell. "The likeness was remarkable. It's little wonder your parents were fooled."

"Why weren't you? How did you figure out it wasn't really me?"

He laughed under his breath and rubbed the side of his neck. "She came to see me in the dungeon, and she told me that all we had between us was a lie."

"You didn't believe her."

He glanced up to see Emma watching him closely and hoped that he wasn't blushing. "I must admit, I didn't fully put the pieces together until I spoke with your father and he mentioned that you had been home for some time, which I knew wasn't possible. It was then that I realized something was seriously amiss."

As he told her of his crew helping him escape and of running into Regina — of having her at his mercy and ultimately letting her go — the expression on Emma's face transformed from openly curious into something much more profound. Her lips parted, her eyes grew wide, and a soft flush colored her cheeks.

Finally, with silence stretching between them, she swallowed hard and said, "You gave up your revenge for me."

He nodded. "Aye."

For a second, she looked as if she wanted to say something.

Then she leaned over, cradled his face in her hands, and pulled him close.

Her lips brushed whisper soft across his, their noses bumping.

He closed his eyes. She lingered for a moment, breathing in the tension growing between them, before kissing him again — firmly this time, with a kind of languid, sensual ease that suggested she didn't intend to stop any time soon.

Her hands trailed down his arms, seeking his own. She twined her fingers with those on his right and then paused as she came to the hook attached to his left.

His stomach clenched and he broke their kiss.

Would the hook revolt her? he wondered. Would she find him any less a man now that he couldn't hold her properly? Doubt and self-loathing washed over him as he waited to see how she'd respond.

Emma bumped the hook gently. And then, raising her eyes to meet his, she took it in the palm of her hand and squeezed firmly.

"I missed you," she whispered.

So open. So accepting. So heartfelt and tender.

His voice was low and rough, his throat tight, when he replied, "And I, you... _love_."


	16. Which is Full of Magic

Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms,  
In all the wildness of dishevelled charms.  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 16: Which is Full of Magic

Emma bit her lip and raised her hands to flatten them against Killian's chest. Her fingertips moved across the stitching on his waistcoat as if memorizing the pattern, then trailed down to the brass buttons. With deliberate care, she unfastened them one by one. He swallowed hard as she tucked her hand inside the loose, black shirt he wore underneath and pressed her palm against the steady thrumming of his heart.

She closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

"Rumplestiltskin tried to convince me that you were dead," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He brought me to the _Jolly Roger_. Or…I thought he did, anyway. And you were attacked by this…shadow _thing_ …"

He cocked his head and scoffed. "A shadow? Darling. I must say, I'm insulted that either of you would take me for such an easy man to kill."

"Yeah, well…" She smiled, but it looked frail and tenuous. "What I saw was very persuasive."

Her troubled expression made him reach up to cup her face. She leaned into his touch, nuzzling against him as he stroked his thumb tenderly along her cheek.

"You don't need to waste any worry on me," he said, angling her face up toward his. "I'm a survivor. Even up against the likes of the Dark One."

"And Regina?" she asked, obviously thinking of the battle yet to come.

"I'm not afraid of the Evil Queen. You don't need to be either. Look how you handled those ogres today. You're a bloody hero."

She frowned.

"We're going to return to your kingdom and set it right," he continued, his hand insistent at her chin. "Together."

Her eyes turned glossy with unshed tears. Emma was not a woman who cried easily. That she should be moved to do so now, based purely on his belief in her and willingness to fight by her side, made him think that exhaustion had left her frayed and raw.

She leaned in and kissed him softly, her lips easy over his. Even that small contact was enough to make him melt.

Her fingernails scraped against his chest as she closed her fingers into a fist. When she leaned back, the air of concern about her had lifted, replaced with heavy-lidded desire.

"Killian…" she murmured as she shifted on her chair, her voice low and husky and rich with wanting.

He could barely breathe through the way his own body tensed and quivered in response, and he was a heartbeat away from plucking her off the chair and taking her to bed when a knock sounded at his cabin door.

"Captain," came Turley's voice, clipped and uneasy. "The…erm…knight is here."

 _Bloody hell_. In the heat of the moment, Killian had completely forgotten that he'd invited the treacherous scoundrel onto his ship.

Emma licked her lips and leaned back. "Could you…?"

"Get rid of him?" he provided with a cheeky smile.

She shook her head, amusement tugging at her lips. "No. Could you keep him busy for a minute while I get dressed?"

"For you, darling…anything." He raised her hand in his, kissed her knuckles, then got up to see about their unwelcome visitor.

It occurred to him as he quickly fastened the buttons on his waistcoat that before Emma, he'd have had no compunctions at all about taking this man and tossing him off the side of the ship. He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment that had changed. The moment _he_ had changed.

Part of him had genuinely believed that he would die in his quest to save her, and that it would be no more than he deserved - cosmic justice for all of the terrible things he had done. The old Killian Jones had been ruled by anger and loss, living only for revenge, and filled with a cocky recklessness underwritten by a complete lack of hope for the future. But that darkness had been vanquished now — transformed during the time he had spent with Emma, then forged into something stronger and brighter as he fought his way back to her.

He felt reborn with her back on his ship, back in his arms.

As he emerged from the captain's cabin, Graham quickly turned to look at him. When he saw Killian, his face fell.

"Where's Emma?"

"Below. She'll be up momentarily and asked me to see to you in the interim."

Graham visibly tensed. Killian made no attempt to ease his concerns, rather enjoying the man's discomfort. Stifling a grin, he propped his hand on the hilt of his sword and strode across the deck. Posturing came naturally. After years of dealing with the likes of Blackbeard, this so-called-knight was nothing. Killian leveled a glare at him and channeled his best fearsome pirate captain. To his credit, Graham did not back down.

"You caused me a great deal of trouble with that ship of yours, mate," he said.

"It wasn't my ship. It was the Queen's."

"You were in charge."

"I was doing my duty. And not entirely by choice." Graham looked him dead in the eye. "The same cannot be said of your time in the Queen's service or the years since."

Killian's mouth parted on a reply, and he was thankful when the cabin door opened behind him, cutting him off, because he had no idea what to say. The man had a point. Killian was not in a position to throw stones.

In any case, the moment he glanced over his shoulder at Emma, all else lifted from his mind. She had pulled a jacket on and cinched it tight about the waist. The white shift she wore underneath fell to her knees, which left her legs bare to the top of her boots. It was a startlingly good look on her. The sea breeze swirled her hair around, and she twined it about one hand to hold it free of her face. Their eyes caught for a moment, and she smiled.

"My Lady." Graham inclined his head in a bow.

"Good to see you found your way to and from the stables," Emma replied.

He nodded. "A couple of men showed up as I was leaving and asked for eight horses. Seems Gaston managed to convince quite a few people to help him storm the Dark One's castle."

Emma shook her head. "I hope they know what they're getting into. Rumplestiltskin is a dangerous man to antagonize, even without his magic."

"Gaston must think this Belle he spoke of is worth the risk."

Emma shrugged. "I think he'll be surprised…"

Without elaborating, she waved Graham over to her.

"I'd like to talk to you for a minute. Killian, is it okay if we use your cabin?"

Surprise rendered him momentarily mute. He didn't particularly care to have Graham standing on board his ship at all. The last thing he wanted was to welcome the man — barely more ally than enemy — into such an intimate space as his cabin. But with Emma doing the asking, it was difficult to refuse.

"Aye," he found himself saying, his jaw tight at the thought of the two of them alone, enjoying a little _tête-à-tête_ in his quarters. "Of course."

Emma smiled appreciatively at him and reached out to brush his hand with hers as they left. A small gesture. But enough to allay the worst of his jealousy.

Needing to keep busy, he moved to help Turley with the sails.

As he worked, he couldn't help but cast wondering glances at his cabin door. What were they discussing? Graham's lost heart? The likelihood that the Evil Queen would crush it to dust as soon as she discovered his betrayal?

That was something Killian hoped never to see again, regardless of whose heart she held.

He shook his head to refocus himself. Soon, if he had his way, Regina would never crush another life again, and she would pay for all of the misery she'd caused in this world.

Emma and Graham weren't gone long before the cabin door opened again and Graham climbed out. His expression betrayed nothing of what they had discussed. He didn't even so much as spare Killian a glance as he made his way past, to the gangway, and off the ship. Killian supposed he was staying behind to help the town defend itself against the next ogre attack, just as Emma had suggested. When Emma didn't immediately come up from below, he gave her a few minutes before striding over to his cabin and heading down to see what was keeping her.

He discovered her sitting perched on the edge of the bed, her head bowed.

She looked up when he entered, her eyes shadowy with exhaustion.

He wanted to walk over and kiss her, to start over where they had left off when Graham's arrival had interrupted them, but she looked so worn out that he opted for something more practical and pulled back the covers on the bed. She looked longingly at the pillow as he fluffed it.

"Get some sleep, darling," he suggested gently. "By the time you wake, we'll be ready to set sail."

She collapsed gratefully, and he tugged off her boots before boosting her legs up onto the bed and covering her up to the waist. With a groan, she nuzzled her face into the bed linens, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

Killian left her like that, dozing peacefully, wrapped safely in the quiet confines of his quarters. He liked having her there. Even with the weight of Regina and the plight of Emma's family hanging in the background, the world felt right once more. The future brightening with possibility.

He set his jaw into a fierce, determined line. He'd make good on his vow to have the ship ready to depart by the time she woke.

Come what may, he was finally going to bring Emma home.

* * *

The king and queen were dead.

Or…something close enough to it, anyway. Smee wasn't sure of the details.

He ducked his head low, hoping no one would take note of him as he swept the castle floors.

In the confusion following the attack on the royal family, it had been easy to infiltrate the castle by pretending to be one of the staff. With the king's inner circle doing all they could to keep the whole kingdom from plunging into chaos, no one had made note of the new guy tidying up in the eastern wing.

He'd kept a low profile at first, afraid of being noticed and implicated in the plot. But when it became clear that he was practically invisible while holding a broom, he became bolder and set about his quest in earnest. He was eager to have some real news to report. Foggerty constantly complained about his dallying — which was easy enough for him, Smee thought, since it wasn't Foggerty's life on the line if he got caught. It took three days and a handful of subtly probing conversations with other members of the staff to finally track Skylights down.

Smee had been standing outside the castle temple, where Skylights's body lay in state awaiting a proper burial, and wondering what to tell the others when the ogres attacked.

The city had been woefully unprepared.

With no one clearly in charge, the response to the ogres was slow and disorganized. Smee watched it all unfold from the safety of the castle, glad to have made his way in before it happened while beyond the high walls, the city burned, overrun.

He had never seen anything like it.

Huge, hulking beasts that, though they looked and acted stupid on their own, operated with a fearful kind of intelligence as a group. And they came in terrifying numbers. Smee hadn't guessed that so many ogres existed in all the land.

Neither, it seemed, had anyone else in the palace.

"Where are they all coming from?" he'd overheard one of the knights demanding.

"I don't know, sir. We haven't had any word from the battle fronts in the north."

"We need to find where they're getting into the kingdom and cut them off from the city. If we keep doing all the fighting here, there will be nothing left to save."

On that dismal note, with panic rising and the populace crowding into the castle courtyard — the only safe haven for miles — help had finally arrived.

Now Smee dutifully swept up a tidy pile of dirt along the corridor outside the throne room, hoping to overhear something.

Two days ago, Regina had appeared in a puff of black smoke upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard and pronounced herself the kingdom's savior.

"The throne sits empty," she had announced. "Your king and queen have perished, and your princess has abandoned you. But I will shelter you all. I have driven the ogres from my kingdom. I will do so here as well. I will be your Queen!"

Smee had looked up at her and fought back a wave of hot rage as everyone else around him cheered.

She'd lapped up their admiration like a starving dog.

It gave him a sick thrill that she hadn't been able to live up to her promises.

The throne room door burst open and she came storming out, dark magic making the air around her crackle and hum. Lancelot followed a comfortable distance behind. Neither one of them bothered to glance at Smee.

"We're making great headway, Your Highness," Lancelot insisted. "The ogre forces have lost cohesion. We'll have them routed within the week."

"It shouldn't take a _week_!" Regina snapped. "I want them gone _now_!"

"We're doing all we can. It's good progress. Before your arrival, even this much seemed an impossible dream."

Regina sent him off with a contemptuous wave of her hand. Then, her lip curled in disgust, she turned and started toward her chambers.

Smee followed.

At her room, Regina pushed open the door and swung it shut behind her, not noticing in her haste that it didn't latch. Smee moved as close to the crack as he dared, dropped his head, waved his broom along a hair's breadth above the floor so as to appear as if he were sweeping without making any noise, and listened.

Regina's steps paused, and he smelled the sharp tang of magic.

"Rumplestiltskin!" she barked. "Where are you?"

Only silence answered her.

"This isn't what you promised me! Turn the ogres back, you treacherous imp!"

She let out a frustrated cry and Smee heard something crash to the floor.

The noise startled him, and before he knew what he was doing, he sprinted off down the hallway, fleeing like a spooked horse. Once he made his way to the relative safety of the castle kitchen, he ducked into a corner and considered what he'd heard.

Something in Regina's plan had gone awry. Perhaps the Dark One no longer answered her calls because he was occupied with the rest of the _Roger's_ crew, come to save the princess. Perhaps the wizard had even been vanquished! In any event, it was clear that Regina had hoped to come into town, wave her hand, "save" the kingdom from the ogres, and take the throne. Having to actually oversee the campaign to clear the city and surrounding lands wasn't something she'd expected to have to do.

Which meant that, for the moment, she was distracted.

Off-balance.

_Vulnerable._

Smee straightened his hat and started toward the gatehouse.

It was time to bring the others in on this.

They owed Skylights as much.

Vengeance on the Evil Queen.

* * *

Emma woke to a persistent tingling in her arm. With a groan, she rolled over, freeing it from where it had become pinned between her body and the mattress. She'd slept so long and hard that apparently she hadn't even bothered to move. Still in half a daze, she kept her eyes closed and listened to the comforting sounds on board the _Jolly Roger_.

Waves sloshed at the hull. Timbers creaked. Gulls cried out. Men's steps moved about. And, above it all, she heard the distinct murmur of Killian's voice, issuing commands.

Compelled, she tossed off the covers, pulled on her boots, and went in search of him.

Most of the day had slipped by while she slept, so she emerged onto the ship's deck in the slanting, orange light of sunset.

The sails billowed above her, full and flawless and ready to make way. Killian ducked underneath rigging as he swept across the deck, his words conducting the men in an intricate dance — tying off bits of rope, swabbing the forecastle deck, bringing in the anchor. Emma smiled at the sight. But it faded when she noticed just how small a crew the ship had carried to Rumplestiltskin's kingdom. It was more obvious now than it had been when she met them in the city that least half of the men were gone.

Killian noticed her and moved to her side.

"We'll be setting sail shortly," he announced with a devastatingly handsome smile, full of pride. The wind in his hair, coloring his cheeks, and his hand flattened loosely against the cabin door as he leaned over her made her pulse quicken. "Is there anything you need to do before we leave?"

She looked up at him, muddled, not quite able to parse what he meant with him standing so close.

"Bid farewell to a certain knight-friend, perhaps?" he suggested.

"Graham?"

She was amused at the flicker of jealousy in Killian's eyes and the way his jaw tightened. As much as she wanted to enjoy the moment and use Graham to tease a bigger reaction out of him, she wanted more for him to know, unequivocally, that she longed only for him.

"No. The next time I see Graham will be when I return the heart Regina stole from him. I want to leave as soon as you're ready."

"As you wish, m'lady." He pushed off from the door.

It took only a few more minutes to prepare the ship, and then Killian took his place at the helm as they eased away from the docks and out into the harbor.

Emma watched from the port side as the gap of water between her and the city grew wider, deeper, and darker. She wondered what would become of the place — how soon the ogres would return, and whether Graham could bring the citizens together long enough to mount an effective defense. Then she cast her eyes up…to the mountains and the thick forest where, somewhere beyond sight stood Rumplestiltskin's castle. Thinking back on the place set her skin crawling. She was glad to be leaving this land and had no desire to ever return. But once Regina had been dealt with, she would. She'd _have_ to. This time with the strength of the royal navy behind her.

She blew out a long breath, feeling the weight of the tasks ahead of her.

The _Jolly Roger_ caught a fair wind as they left the harbor and entered into open ocean. It wasn't exactly at their backs — Killian had to cut a wide, tacking course into it — but it wasn't a headwind either. They managed a respectable speed, the ship's bow cutting a smooth path through the calm sea.

Emma stayed on deck as they moved south, watching the sun set and the stars come out. Ed paused long enough in his duties to lay a firm, friendly hand upon her shoulder. He left her with a gentle squeeze and a wide, flat smile.

"Glad to have you back," he said under his breath, his voice gritty. "'T'weren't the same without you."

They ate dinner in the open air by the light of the lanterns, just as they had when she first came aboard.

The mood was jovial, full and welcoming and celebratory. As Turley brought out a flute and played a light, bubbling tune, Emma noticed the burn of magic coursing through her veins.

Startled, she clenched her fists and willed it back down.

"What do you say, love?" Killian appeared next to her, offering his hand with a goofy, bright-eyed look on his face. "Care to dance?"

Emma tilted her head. "You know how to dance?"

"Aye. I was a respectable gentleman once."

His fingers tightened reassuringly around her own as she took his hand. Then he tugged her close, bringing her into his frame. His hook rested at the small of her back. The rhythm of Turley's music demanded a fast pace, and Killian swept her across the deck without missing a beat.

"Try not to look so surprised," he said with a smile.

They twirled about the deck until she was laughing and dizzy, all of the movement keeping her warm against the chill of the night. Eventually, Killian handed her off to Ed who twirled her some more. Mullins and Black Murphy danced together along side them, gamely locking arms, spinning, and knocking their heels together. The merriment was infectious. No one seemed able to hold out against it.

When Emma found herself once again wrapped in Killian's steady embrace, her delight shifted to a different kind of pleasure.

His shoulders were firm and warm under her hands. As they moved, their tempo slowing though the music did not, his chest pressed against hers and their knees bumped. They had danced together so flawlessly before that this new awkwardness was impossible to ignore. Emma met his eyes and saw the same breathless intensity that was making it difficult for her to remember even the most rudimentary steps.

Silent agreement fell between them.

Nothing needed said. They moved as one toward his cabin door, leaving the riot of music and laughter behind.

Emma went down the ladder first and turned immediately to meet Killian as he followed. In his haste, he missed the bottom rung and stumbled a step. She caught him by the collar of his shirt and let his momentum bring his mouth to hers.

Sweet relief.

She exhaled against his lips as they backed farther into the room.

He tasted exactly as she remembered. Her whole body flushed, recalling all the times before it had been brought her to and from the roof of heaven.

Even the rough scratch of his stubble made her flush with heat.

Sharp wanting speared through her core.

The strength of her desire left her trembling, and her nose pressed into Killian's cheek as she drew in a deep breath to steady herself. They swayed, the motion of the ship threatening to topple them, which was far from the worst of fates — they had ended up knotted in each other's arms on the floor once before — but it wasn't what she had in mind for tonight. She'd been long without him and meant to savor this.

Emma pulled back, her hands moving up to frame his face.

They hadn't bothered to light a lantern, so she could only see him in moonglow shades of silver and shadow. Eyes half closed, she ran her knuckles along the curve of his jaw, past his ears, and threaded her fingers into his hair. He murmured something under his breath and leaned his forehead against hers, followed not long thereafter by the rest of his body — the fusion of their hips drawing a gasp from Emma's throat.

With all of the care she could muster, she reached in between them to unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat, just as she had earlier that day. And, again, she reached inside to press a palm over the beating of his heart.

This time there was no one to interrupt them. Music still filled the night above, layering its cheerful tempo on top of the footsteps and voices of the rest of the crew. But it all reached Emma as little more than a far distant hum, nearly drowned out by the rasp of Killian's sharp breaths and the rushing of her blood.

She pushed the waistcoat off his shoulders and it fell to the floor with a thud.

When she moved to lift his shirt as well, he fell back a step.

"What?" she asked, dazed. Had he changed his mind? Heard something?

"I'm not…" He paused and licked his lips. Even in the dark, she could make out the alarmed expression on his face. "I'm not the same."

_Not the…?_

Realization hit her.

_His hook._

It hadn't occurred to her that he might be self-conscious of it. Killian had never been anything but confident in the bedroom. She was the one who had started out their relationship with doubts and hesitation, her lack of experience glaring when held up against his worldliness. She struggled now to orient herself with the situation suddenly reversed and Killian no longer taking the self-assured lead in this dance.

She didn't know what to say. The hook didn't make any difference to her. But obviously it did to him. She didn't want to discount that or brush it off.

So she didn't say anything. She reached for him again, gently and patiently slipping her fingers back underneath the hem of his shirt. His stomach sucked in when she brushed it, and he watched her closely in the moonlight, his expression too naked to hide the questions swirling through his head. Whether she'd flinch from his injury. Whether it would change anything between them.

Emma lifted his shirt over his head and waited while he freed his arms. And then he stood bare chested before her, the mechanism which held the hook to his wrist exposed.

It was a crude device, made from bits of rigging and other apparently salvaged pieces of ship hardware she didn't recognize. And it looked uncomfortable. To secure the brace to his arm, he had used rope to tie it tight, and the skin around where the rope rubbed looked red and painful. Emma frowned at it, then caught herself, afraid he might think that she was frowning in pity or judgement rather than sympathy.

"Do you want me to take it off?" he asked.

She eyed him.

Did _he_ want to take it off?

"I'm fine either way," she said, and to prove it, reached down to take his hook in her hand. It didn't strike her as at all awkward to lift it between them and then caress her palm along its metal curve.

They didn't say anything more about it. She merely stepped into his arms, pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him while he wrapped her in a firm embrace — hand and hook.

The moment passed. He kissed her with all of the same verve and passion and confidence he'd always had, and she forgot that anything at all had changed as they blindly cut a familiar path across the cabin floor to his bed.

 _To hell with savoring it_ , she thought, his mouth working her into a frenzy — spreading kisses across her face, moving down the column of her neck. His fingers tugged aside her jacket to expose the top of her breasts, and she helped him by quickly making her way out of the garment and tossing it over his shoulder. Something clattered to the floor off of the table where it landed.

She sighed his name into his hair when his head dropped down to her chest.

The stubborn leather of his pants made her curse, and he chuckled under his breath at her frustration.

He proved surprisingly deft at removing her shift using hand and hook, the cool metal raising goosebumps as it slid softly across her skin. She shivered and groaned. Her stomach tightened. There was something exciting and novel and bizarrely, intensely sexual about being touched by his hook. The hint of danger — of deviousness — reminded her of when she'd first met him. When he'd still been little but a fierce pirate captain to her, but she'd been inexorably drawn to him anyway. Her thighs clenched and she looked up at him, naked and vulnerable on his bed, dressed only in her boots.

He bent and pulled them off, then slipped out of his own as well. His pants followed, behaving far better for him than they had for her and then he eased her back onto the bed, her hair spilling onto the pillows.

Even inside his cabin, the chill of the northern night reached them. Emma sighed with relief when he climbed on top of her, his heat melting into her, easing her into the mattress.

She wrapped both arms and legs around him and held tight, drowning happily in the sea-and-leather smell of him and the smooth taste of his skin as she ran her tongue up the side of his neck.

Gods, how she'd missed this. Missed him. _Them._

He lifted his head long enough to smile at her with wicked affection, then slipped down the length of her body, raining kisses all the way, to the very center of her ache.

With the first touch of his tongue, she arched up off the bed.

Then, slowly, the sharp stabs of pleasure settled into something long and languid and deep...building, blooming, radiating out from her very soul.

The sensation of fire flicking across her flesh — hot and crackling and pleasant — made her lift her head and open her eyes.

Stars danced around the room — out from her, over him, up and down the walls. Where one of her hands had tangled in his hair, she saw light leaving her fingertips to race down his neck and back. He didn't seem to notice, absorbed in his task, but she felt a flash of horror at the magic filling the room, at her total lack of control.

It was too late to stop. She was too far gone. Even as she moved to push him away, to ask him to stop, he turned his head just so, hit a spot that was _oh so right_ , and she was cast shuddering and crying into the storm.

When she came down, the magic did too. But small fragments of light continued to float above them like fireflies.

Killian nuzzled her thigh once, then climbed back up her.

When he tried to press a kiss to her lips, she turned her face away.

"Emma?"

Tears stung at the back of her eyes.

"What's wrong, love?" He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. His voice was low. Tender.

"The magic. I didn't mean to. It just…" She blew out a breath. "I'm so sorry."

His body shifted next to hers, bringing them into better alignment. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I could have hurt you…"

"You didn't."

She rolled into him, burying her face against his neck. His warmth helped to slow her aching heart, and though her magic still tingled just beneath the surface of her skin, the insistent burn of it slowly subsided, back under control.

"This…magic of yours…" Killian said, an edge of hesitation to his voice.

Based on the way he hugged her close as he spoke, she didn't think it was fear giving him pause. Rather, she read it as a gentle prod. A request to open up. To trust him. In the close, quiet confines of his cabin, wrapped in his arms, it wasn't difficult to take that step.

In a low whisper, aware that the music above had stopped, her words only insulated now by the gentle creaking of the ship's timbers, she told him how Rumplestiltksin had uncovered her magic.

"He says it's something I've always had," she said. "Because I am the product of True Love."

Killian's thigh moved against hers and his fingers brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "Hmm," he murmured. "That is powerful magic, indeed."

"It's like this _thing_ has woken up inside of me."

She frowned, thinking back to the way the villagers had looked at her, as if they weren't sure if she were their savior or a new potential overlord — and that, with magic involved, perhaps the line between those two things was so perilously thin as not to matter. Since her power seemed to have more command over her than she did of it, maybe they were right.

"This isn't who I thought I was," she admitted. "It's not who I _want_ to be. All of the sudden, I find out I'm a…a witch. A monster. What am I supposed to do?"

Killian pushed her back far enough to meet her eyes. "Emma," he said, his tone flat and serious, his brows drawn together. "I've met a number of fell creatures in my time, and I assure you, you are _not_ one of them."

"You heard what Gaston said—" she started, but he swiftly cut her off.

" _Gaston_ is a halfwit whose opinion is worth exactly nothing. This magic doesn't change who you are. And who you are, Emma, is beautiful and brave and _good_. I'm sure your magic is, too."

She arched an eyebrow at him, doubtful.

"Come here."

He sat up and pulled her with him. Curious, she watched as he reached across his chest and began unfastening the brace holding on his hook. Despite making a noble effort at appearing nonchalant, she saw a tense muscle in his jaw twitch and knew how difficult it was for him to bare himself like this to her.

"The blow Rumplestiltskin dealt me has been a source of constant pain," he said as he peeled the brace away, easing it down his arm. "Until now."

It took her a moment to process what he meant, because all thoughts ground to a halt when he revealed the blunt end of his arm, his wrist ending in a sharp line where his hand had once been. It startled her to see it, a visceral reminder of the moment when she'd stood beside him and watched as Rumplestiltskin cut it off. Blinking hard to clear away the images her memory burned onto the back of her eyes, she tried to focus on him in the here and now.

His wrist looked much better than she'd imagined. Better than it should have given the amount of time that had passed.

Her eyes rose up to meet his. He looked back at her in breathless anticipation. Waiting.

"Do you mean that my magic…?" She'd _healed_ him?

His shoulders twitched in a small shrug.

"You see," he said, tucking his arm close to himself again. "You're a hero, love. Not a villain. Magic won't change that."

Emma leaned over, grabbed hold of his injured arm, and pulled it around her. He hesitated briefly, a flicker of uncertainty, before relaxing, his forearm coming to rest in the lower curve of her back.

And then she kissed him, her hands sliding slowly up his chest to his shoulders. It was the best way she knew how to thank him for what he'd said, for accepting her and reassuring her and coming to save her — she'd always been more comfortable with actions than words, especially when her emotions were running high.

Killian let out a soft grunt against her lips and urged her closer, bringing her into his lap. Her legs slotted perfectly around his hips, contact that made his stomach suck away from hers with a gasp. She grinned into their kiss, cupped his face, and deepened it. Her position set her slightly above him, and she kissed him with everything she had to give — no longer a thank you, but tongue and teeth and the motion of her body angling into his, their hearts beating out an erratic rhythm against one another.

The tips of Killian's fingers brushed down her back, then back up, playing across each of her ribs until they found the side of her breast.

Sparks danced around them. A star-field of magic.

Emma closed her eyes and ignored it.

She wouldn't hurt him.

She _couldn't_ hurt him.

An ache blossomed deep in her stomach. Warm and tight and needy. With one hand braced on his shoulder, she lifted herself up, sought him out with her hips and then eased back down to completeness. She shivered and broke from his mouth to let out a tremulous breath. Killian dropped his head against her shoulder and made a strangled sound caught somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

They stayed that way for a while, neither moving though Emma's body begged for friction. Underneath her, she felt Killian shift and twitch, eager but unable to do much more with her weight on top of him than wait for her to take the lead.

Emma tried to take her time. She ran her fingers through his thick, black hair, smoothed her palms across the broad expanse of his shoulders and down his back, buried her nose in the crook of his neck and breathed deep.

But magic flared inside of her — a white hot inferno of energy, threatening to erupt.

She couldn't hold still anymore.

Rocking.

Rising.

Falling…

Killian's hand slipped down between them, his rings cool against her stomach, and she bit back a groan when he found his way home and began working his knuckle against her. He knew her, knew her body and just the right pace, just the right pressure. She wasn't sure if it was an easy, well-practiced skill of his, or something unique to the two of them together — a perfect union — but between his clever fingers and her eager thrusts, they quickly had one another gasping at the brink.

A sharp breath, a low cry, and his hand stuttered.

Emma held his head against her shoulder as he gasped, then joined him.

In the silence afterward, with her magic surrounding them like dust motes in a sunbeam, Killian clutched her even closer, capturing her in an embrace so fierce his arms shook with it.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear.

Tears welled up in her eyes again.

"I love you, too," she whispered back.

He held her long into the night, the two of them a tangle on his narrow bed. And what she knew lay before her didn't seem so impossible with him at her side. They'd faced peril before and overcome it. Sirens. Sea serpents. Regina was only one person. Granted, she had magic, but…so did Emma.

As her eyes drifted closed to the gentle rocking of the sea and Killian's steady breathing, she allowed herself to believe.

They could do this.

Together.

* * *

Baelfire pulled the heavy curtains in his room back just far enough to peer out the window. Below, he could see the courtyard path leading through perfectly manicured rows of hedges and rose bushes up to the front door. Rarely, if ever, did anyone use the entrance. They didn't have much in the way of friendly visitors, and his father tended to simply vanish and conduct his business elsewhere. Bae, for his part, preferred less ostentatious exits. And Belle never left at all. So it was exceedingly strange to look down now at the assembled mass of men and horses that had emerged from the forest.

They were all well-armed. And they were all angry.

A mob.

"They can't get in, you know," Belle said from behind him.

He turned to find her standing in his open doorway, hands folded in front of her.

"Yeah. I know. There are enchantments on all the windows and doors."

He squinted his eyes at her, puzzled as to why she'd seek him out. He liked Belle well enough. She was sweet, unobtrusive, and generally tried her best to keep the peace in a household where tension ran high more often than not. But he was also aware that Belle and his father had developed a certain interest in one another that, quite frankly, he preferred not to think about. He avoided having to see them together when he could. Which meant that, despite sharing a roof with her, he and Belle had never really spent time together, just the two of them.

"Can I come in?" she asked as she rocked onto her toes and took a quick glance around the room.

"Sure."

She flashed him a smile and then walked over to stand beside him at the window. Baelfire watched curiously as she leaned over to peek out.

"See that man right there?" she said, pressing a finger to the glass. "The one in red? That's Gaston."

"You know him?"

"We were engaged." At his look of surprise, she added, "Not by choice. At least…not mine. My father promised him my hand. Escaping a life with Gaston is one of the reasons I agreed to come here."

Baelfire grumbled his understanding — he knew what it was to feel trapped and the luxury of getting to live on your own terms, even if that merely meant choosing your own prison. "He must be here to get you back," he said.

Belle looked down at the castle courtyard with more unease than he'd ever seen her show toward his father. It made him stop and take another look at Gaston. He'd always figured Belle was simply fearless by nature. What sort of man could make her nervous if not the Dark One?

Gaston didn't look like much. An ass, sure. He was exactly the sort who'd once made Baelfire's life miserable as the son of the town coward. Most of them, he'd learned, were more bark than bite. When the Dark One came for them, they hadn't shown much bravery or bravado, except for the small handful of those who possessed both a love of violence and a dangerous level of self-assurance. Gaston, he figured, had to be one of the latter.

"He only wants me as a prize," Belle said. "I'm just a trophy to him."

And what was she to the Dark One? A prisoner, at first. Something a little more now…

"Papa won't let him take you."

She shook her head. "Without his magic…"

"Don't let him fool you. Even though I've got the dagger, he's still got plenty of magic. The vault alone has a hundred things he could use to send these idiots running home."

Belle pressed her lips together and was silent for a moment.

"And what about _them_?" she finally said.

Baelfire didn't know what she meant. But then he saw movement in the trees, and the men below began to scramble in closer to the castle walls.

Two ogres came charging out at them.

The sight startled Baelfire, making him gasp. He knew _of_ ogres. But he had never seen one. They were far off things to him, only causing trouble in other lands, bothering people he didn't know or care about. So he'd given them precious little thought. He'd certainly never taken pains to imagine what they might look like. But even if he had, he didn't think he'd have dreamt that they were quite so big.

Mouth dry, he took a tentative step back from the window.

"The enchantments will keep them out. We're okay as long as we stay in the—"

His words were cut off when one of the ogres plucked one of the statues up off the side of the road and hurled it toward the castle. He'd expected it to shatter against a protective flare of magic. Instead, it crashed into the wall a floor below where he stood with a terrific bang. He heard men screaming outside, and his heart clenched with fear like he had never known before.

What was happening?

Why were the spells on the castle failing?

Was it his fault? he wondered desperately. Was his prohibition on magic responsible?

Shaken, he turned to grab the dagger from where he had left it on his nightstand, ready to call his father to him and command him to do something, to use his power to send the beasts back where they came from. But his nightstand was bare. The dagger gone.

And so, he realized a second later, his stomach sinking, was Belle.


	17. In Which the Princess Returns Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aiming to have the last two chapters of this story posted within the next week or so. I have the whole thing done and am just working on some final revisions with my beta. Sorry about all the long delays! Wanted to let you all know that there shouldn't be any more. :)

For now the pirates passed the Haram gate,  
And burst within—and it were death to wait;  
Where wild Amazement shrieking—kneeling—throws  
The sword aside—in vain—the blood o'erflows!  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 17: In Which the Princess Returns Home

Rumplestiltskin watched the ogres outside his window with only half an eye. He'd dismantled enough of the protective spells on the grounds to allow them to rattle the windows and dent the walls but had left the critical spells which guarded his vault and his study well in place, so no matter how hard they raged, the beasts wouldn't be able to cause any meaningful damage — to _him_ , anyway.

Bored and anxious, he turned away from the window to pace. The way the mob from the village had scattered before the beasts had been briefly entertaining, but quickly lost its appeal as he waited for Belle to return from her task.

He'd practically delivered the dagger straight into her hands. What was taking so long?

His palms burned with the driving need to access his magic. He hadn't been without it in well over a decade. And he didn't like the way his powerlessness reminded him of more dismal times — of back when he'd been nothing but a lowly coward, doomed to suffer the cruelty of others. The men outside weren't the same ones who had harried him in his previous life, but they were clearly of the same breed. A cruel smile spread across his face when he heard one of them scream, the sound so very like how his own tormentors had ultimately wailed in terror at his feet.

"Rumple?" Belle's voice broke through his thoughts.

She stood in the doorway, her hands hidden behind the voluminous blue skirt of her dress.

"Belle! Do you have it?"

Her lips pressed together and she nodded.

His heart clenched and a rush of adrenaline propelled him across the study toward her.

" _Give it to me_!" he demanded, the mask of benevolence he wore around her slipping at the prospect of his dagger's return.

Belle's eyes went wide and she took a step back.

"Don't come any closer," she said.

Against his will, he stopped.

His back teeth ground together in frustration.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to inject as much tenderness into his voice as he could muster. "I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just…you don't understand what it's like — having something that can control you. Something that can take away all of your free-will. It's worse than imprisonment. It's slavery."

She regarded him warily before bringing the dagger around to hold it in front of her.

Rumple's eyes fixed on it.

"Yes. Now…" He held out his hand in what he hoped was an open, friendly manner. "Please. I can't live like this."

Her hand only tightened around the hilt. "Baelfire told me that you don't need it to stop the ogres. He says you have enough magic in your vault to keep us safe. Is that true?"

"Yes," he replied — with her holding the dagger, he had no choice except to admit so. "But the items in the vault are there for a reason. Their powers are unpredictable. Dangerous. I'd rather not use any of them if I didn't have to. Now hurry. The ogres will breach what's left of our defenses soon."

Still, she hesitated.

"What about the men from my village?"

"What about them?" he snapped, more sharply than he intended. "Do you really care what happens to Gaston?"

"I don't like him, but that doesn't mean I want him to be ripped apart! I need you to promise me that you'll help them."

Rumple sighed, but he had no choice. "Fine. If it means that much to you, I won't let the ogres harm them. Now…my dagger!"

Belle nodded and held it out.

 _Ah, yes._ Sweet, innocent Belle.

He knew he'd be able to count on her to believe that he could be a better man — to trust him blindly and to do whatever he asked. Perhaps someday she'd finally come to see him for what he was and not what she wanted him to be.

She sent him a small, hopeful smile as she dropped the dagger into his outstretched palm.

The moment he held its weight, a surge of power washed over him — dark and growling and eager to be unleashed. He shivered and closed his eyes, letting the magic roll and boil within him until his whole body burned. His eyes flashed open and he felt like himself again. Like the Dark One.

_It's good to be back._

But first, the promise he'd made.

Easy enough.

He reached out with his power to seize control of the ogres once more. They were simple beasts with such feeble wills of their own that it took precious little effort to spin them around and send them running.

"There," he said. "Your friends have nothing left to fear. Now…if you'll excuse me, I have quite a lot of work to do."

Re-establishing his hold on the rest of his ogre army would take considerably more time and concentration. There was no telling how much damage his forces had suffered or how far they had scattered while he'd been unable to tend to them.

"Work?" Belle's mouth fell open in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

He ignored her question, gave her a magical shove across the threshold, then slammed and bolted the door shut behind her. She shouted, demanding to be let back in, but he barely heard her muffled pleas, his mind already miles away. There was much to tend to, and one person in particular who he knew would be anxious to speak to him.

In light of everything that had happened, for once he was eager to talk to her, too.

He walked to his desk, sat down, and positioned himself in front of a round mirror. The glass fogged at his touch, then cleared to show another room.

It took a moment before she responded.

Finally, the door to the chamber in the mirror flew open with a bang. Regina stalked toward him in a fury, her skirts billowing wild about her, a fireball crackling in one hand, her lip curled into a cat-like snarl.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demanded.

He leaned back and smiled, his dagger resting comfortably across his thighs. "Miss me, dearie?"

"Miss you? I'm going to _kill_ you! These damned ogres have destroyed half my city! This isn't what you promised me! You were supposed to send them away as soon as I took the throne. You broke our deal."

"Yes, well…my end hasn't exactly played according to plan either."

Regina planted her fists on her hips. "What do you mean? Emma doesn't want to marry your toad of a son after all?" At his silence, she stepped closer to the mirror, a canny look on her face. "Or…wait, don't tell me! Did she _escape_?"

Rumple scowled and she broke into laughter.

"Serves you right," she said, clutching her sides. "You have no idea where she is. Do you?"

"It doesn't matter where she is right now. I know where she's going."

"Let me guess—here?"

"Of course. To save her family."

Regina crossed her arms. "Well that's impossible."

"Not quite, dearie. You see, Emma is not the helpless princess we presumed."

She was much, much more. She was the power of true love incarnate and — for him, at least — the key to conquering death itself. He'd have her back no matter the cost. If it meant Regina got what she wanted, all the better. He did, after all, take great pride in honoring his deals.

"What do you need me to do?" Regina asked.

"Right now? Nothing." He grinned. "I will come to you."

* * *

Baelfire arrived outside his father's study just in time to see Belle unceremoniously shoved out the door. It slammed shut in her face. She stood and stared for a second, her expression twisted with heartbreak, before her pride recovered enough for her to raise her fist and demand to be let back in.

"Oh no!" Bae slumped against the wall behind her, needing it to hold him up. "You gave it to him. Didn't you?"

She jumped, startled, and when she turned to look at him her face was flush with guilt.

"I had to. He needed it back. The ogres—"

"Come on, Belle! Don't tell me you believe that. He doesn't need Dark One magic to deal with a couple of ogres."

"No," she said, a steely edge coming over her voice. "He needs it to deal with _all_ of them. To keep my family and my whole village safe. That's the deal I made when I came here. And I intend to keep it! I won't let anyone else I love die like that!"

Bae's eyebrows drew together. "Anyone _else_?"

"Yes. My—my mother." Her lips pressed together and she took in a deep, steadying breath through her nose. "There was an attack. She died protecting me."

"I…" Bae blinked hard. "I'm sorry."

He was struck suddenly by the realization that he knew almost nothing about this woman despite having lived with her for years. He'd never asked her a single question about her past or about what her life had been like before she'd arrived. And he certainly had never entertained the notion that they might have anything in common.

Bae stared at her, not sure what to say, shaken by an unexpected spasm of sympathy.

"I betrayed your trust, and I'm sorry for that," Belle said. "But I did what I had to do."

"I know." He shook his head and reached out awkwardly to touch her arm before thinking better of it and pulling his hand back again. "I mean — I understand."

Belle sent him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

Uncomfortable, he turned away from her and toward the only other thing in the hallway — the massive door to his father's study. Belle had owned up to her betrayal. Now, he supposed, it was his turn. A shiver of fear skittered across his skin as he looked at the door and imagined what might await him on the other side. His father still loved him. He knew that much. But he did not know how much forgiveness it might buy him, especially now with his father's dark power returned.

"Go ahead," Belle urged him. "You're his son. He'll listen to you."

He didn't think so.

But he raised his hand and knocked anyway.

"Papa?"

Silence.

"Papa! Let us in!"

They waited, and Bae had resolved himself to having to beg when a clatter down the hall made him jump. He turned, sweeping Belle behind him with one arm, in time to see a group of men come running around the far corner, their clothes a filthy mess but their swords held high and gleaming.

Belle gasped. "Gaston!"

"Where is he?" the man roared as he came to a stop in front of them.

His dark hair hung in loose chunks over his forehead and down the back of his neck onto his shoulders. His shirt was torn at one shoulder, revealing a bloody gash underneath. The hand he held his sword with trembled — with pain, exhaustion, or rage, Bae wasn't sure.

"Where is he?" Gaston repeated, a maniacal gleam to his eyes. "Where is the beast? Where is Rumplestiltskin?"

Bae glanced at Belle, who shrugged.

"He's…uh…right in there," Bae said and pointed to the study door.

Gaston immediately heaved himself into it. The wood cracked with his first blow, but the hinges didn't give way until he had thrown himself into it three more times. Everybody, including the haggard group of men who had accompanied Gaston from the village, stepped back, sheltering against the wall in the hallway, as Gaston went charging into the study with the bellow of a raging bull.

Tensed, Bae waited to hear what would happen next. He didn't care about Gaston. But seeing his father hurt people bothered him no matter how deserving the victim. It reminded him of the sharp tang of magic in the air and the sick feeling in his gut when Rumple had murdered their first maid — Belle's predecessor — and the unfamiliar rush of fear that had gripped him when he'd watched his father, freshly turned, exact bloody revenge on a soldier who had harassed them on the road.

A shout came from the study.

"Show yourself, Beast!" Gaston cried out, followed by a clatter as he tipped something over.

Bae leaned over far enough to peer into the room.

His father wasn't there.

Gaston continued to search for him anyway, tearing down the curtains and overturning the furniture. Finally, as everyone began to filter into the room, Gaston turned, stalked up to Baelfire, and jabbed him in the chest with one gloved finger.

"Where is he?"

"The last we saw, he was here," Belle said, her hand coming up to push Gaston's down.

"You're covering for him!"

"We're telling you the truth!" Belle shifted so she stood between them. "Anyway, you came to save _me_. Didn't you?"

With a scowl, he shoved her out of the way, and Baelfire along with her.

"Take whatever booty you can find," he shouted over his shoulder to the other men as he stormed off, "but remember: the Beast is mine!"

The other men exchanged glances. As the sound of Gaston's heavy, booted footsteps faded down the hallway, one of them moved toward Belle, his hand coming out to settle tentatively on her shoulder.

"Not all of us came for the Dark One," he said kindly.

Belle smiled. "Philippe! I almost didn't recognize you."

Baelfire stepped away from them, much more interested in the fact that his father had used his magic to leave the castle than in Belle's reunion with an old friend.

Bae walked to stand in the middle of the study and frowned. With Rumple's powers restored, he had assumed that _he_ would be the first thing on his father's mind. How could he _not_ be? What could have been more important to Rumplestiltskin than his own son's betrayal?

He looked around the room, searching through the mess for some sign. At length, his eyes landed on an urn, lying on its side by the fire.

_Oh, no…_

He spun around and started for the door, his heart pounding.

"Baelfire." Belle reached out to stop him. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"My father. He's gone after Emma."

She shook her head. "What? How do you know? Maybe he just needed a bit of time to—"

"I know!" he barked, cutting her off. "I have to do something. I have to help her."

Belle followed him out into the hallway. "Where are you going?"

"The vault." He still had the key. "There's bound to be something in there I can use to…to..."

To what? To warn the princess? Or to kill the demon that pursued her?

He wasn't sure. But he knew he couldn't sit back and do nothing. Emma had no idea the danger waiting for her or the scale of the battle ahead.

"So you're just going to leave and go after him?" Belle said, the panic in her voice sharp enough that he stopped and turned to look at her.

She stood before the group of armed men who had come to take her home, her eyes pleading. She didn't want to go, he realized. Still, after everything, she wanted to stay. And without his help, she'd have no choice in the matter. They'd take her away, maybe even to the fate she'd once fled as Gaston's bride.

" _Please_ ," she breathed.

But Bae shook his head.

"You'll be okay," he said, firm with the knowledge that she would at least be safe. The rest was up to her.

She called out to him as he turned and continued down the hallway. He ignored her, his mind fixed on what he'd have to do next.

Belle would be better off with her family, he thought. Because after this, there would be none left here. Bae had finally made a stand when he had decided to help Emma, and there was no going back — no more abiding the evil haunting his steps. He would return, or the Dark One would.

He stopped in front of the door to the vault and pulled the key from his pocket, the metal warm against his palm. He hesitated only a moment, then slipped it into the lock, turned, and descended into the darkness beyond.

* * *

With only half a crew, life aboard the _Jolly Roger_ was not as leisurely as Emma remembered. Killian got up early to join his men up on deck, slipping out of bed in the chilly pre-dawn murk. When Emma rolled over and grabbed his arm with a groan of protest, he shushed her and tucked the blankets back up to her chin.

"Relax, love. Get some rest. I've got to get back to my post."

She watched through half-closed eyes as he quickly dressed.

When he left, she curled up in the warmth he'd left behind and slept until the sun came up and drove away the worst of the northern cold.

She dressed, ate, then tied back her hair before joining everyone else above deck.

Killian was not as his usual place at the helm. She found him working the rigging instead, his jacket off, sweat slicking his brow despite the crisp wind.

"What can I do?" she asked once he had a moment. "I want to be useful. Give me a job." Anything except spending the whole trip dwelling on what awaited her at home.

Killian sent her to the galley, where she spent the rest of the morning, grateful for the simple distraction it afforded. No one had time to stop and eat a proper meal, so she brought each of the men's rations to their station. When she brought Killian his, she found him hunched over a map, plotting their course.

"This damnable wind," he said with a sigh. "I'm afraid we'll be fighting it the whole way back. I'm sorry, love. I'd like to get you there faster…"

"It's not your fault," she assured him before returning to her duties.

Every night, they slept wrapped in each other's arms, and every day Emma looked out across the sea and at the coastline drifting by in the distance, her mood swinging between anxiety and dread. She didn't know whether she wanted to get home faster or linger forever out at sea. Her parents needed her, and she was eager to return to them and help them. But she feared that she was already too late. At least here she didn't have to face the truth. Here she could pretend everything at home was fine and think of her kingdom and her parents as she had last seen them. Not as whatever they were now…

Dead?

Or…something worse?

Killian did his best to cheer her up. Three days into their journey, he swooped unexpectedly into the galley and kissed her, then dragged her away from her work to tumble her indulgently into bed. Afterwards, they emerged back on deck just in time to watch a pod of whales passing in the distance, their gray backs undulating out of the sea with great, noisy blasts of spume. The whole crew set aside their work to watch. And as Killian slipped his arm around her waist, magic tickled at her fingertips. She clenched her hands, holding onto the sensation, her mind whirring.

All at once, she realized what she had to do.

Rumplestiltskin had awoken her magic with the hope of taking it for himself. Because he'd been the one to induce it, and because darkness had coveted it, she'd come to think of her power as something to suppress — as something which would corrupt her if given free rein. Killian had assured her that she was no monster, that nothing could drive her to become what Rumplestiltskin had, and that there was a stark difference between magic acquired — magic lusted after — and that which came from within. Still, she'd had her doubts.

But if her power could save her family? If it could help her defeat Regina?

She had no choice. She had to embrace it.

She resolved to practice until it was truly hers to command, continuing what she had begun locked away in Rumplestiltskin's dungeon.

Killian gave her leave from her duties to do so. Often, he watched her practice in the evenings, after they'd retired to his cabin for the night.

Every day, she gained more control. The room ceased to explode into stars every time she and Killian made love. The burning in her blood abated to a simmer — warm, ever-present, but tolerable. She refined the skills she had already learned until they came with a natural ease. She made things vanish and reappear. She summoned fire to light candles and lanterns. And she blasted a far-too-agreeable Mullins across the deck with a swipe of her arm. Still, without anyone to guide her, she learned nothing new. Nothing that might save them all in the fight against Regina.

 _It's not going to be enough_ , she thought with rising concern as the days wore on.

They didn't see any ships as they sailed into the waters surrounding Emma's kingdom. The sea was desolate and calm, the sun shining down on a shore that appeared empty and wild. Emma recognized the lay of the land and knew this to be a busy sea lane that should have been thick with traffic. The stillness was haunting and eerie.

"Where is everyone?" she murmured.

Killian frowned.

"Do you think something happened to the city?" Ed asked from his spot at the ship's wheel. "Maybe we ought to sail straight to the harbor."

"No." Killian shook his head. "We stick to the plan. Surprise is our only sure advantage. Best to hold onto it."

Late that night, they sailed into a small inlet and dropped anchor.

Killian came down into his cabin and looked surprised at finding her up and about, getting dressed by the light of the lantern overhead. "Couldn't sleep, love?"

She shook her head. "Are we there?"

"Aye." He propped a hand on his belt buckle and leaned against the wall to watch her. "This is as close as we can get on the _Jolly Roger_. My crew laid anchor here after you were taken. It's close to the city — half a day's walk. We can rest until morning and depart at daybreak, or—"

"No," Emma interrupted, but he didn't look surprised. "I don't want to wait."

"I thought you'd say that." He sent her an encouraging smile. "The men are taking in the sails. Once they're done, we can disembark."

Emma nodded and crossed over to him in order to pick up her cutlass — _Liam's_ old cutlass, she reminded herself. She'd almost forgotten that this had been Killian's fight long before it became hers. They both went now to their fate.

"So," she said, avoiding eye contact. "We have a moment?"

His voice was whisper soft. "Aye."

In light of the very real possibility neither one of them would survive the day, there was much Emma wanted to say, things they had avoided discussing the whole trip south. One thing weighed on her above all else — what might happen if they survived? If she defeated the Evil Queen and saved her parents and restored her kingdom…what then? Where did Killian fit in that future?

Would he stay with her? Give up the sea and the _Jolly Roger_ and everything that he had ever known?

She knew that it might not even matter what either of them wanted. The people might not be willing to humor her dalliance with a pirate. They certainly would balk at anything that hinted at more permanence, like marriage.

Licking her lips, she looked up at him, her mouth dry.

She wanted to ask him if he'd stay and fight for her. But for a few more minutes, her royal responsibilities remained beyond this room — a thing to be dealt with later.

So she kissed him instead. Slow and easy and _not_ , she decided, a goodbye.

"I love you," she whispered.

His hand cupped her cheek. "And I you."

A shout reached them from above. The crew was ready to depart.

They left, rowing to shore by the light of the moon and then strode off into the thick blanket of shadow of the surrounding forest. The trees cloaked them in near impenetrable darkness. Ed, Mullins, and Scourie each held out a lantern to help light the way. When the lanterns went out, all of their oil gone, Emma conjured a ball of white light in her hand.

Just before dawn, they came over a rise that looked down upon the city. Emma froze in her tracks, the light flickering in her palm.

Her home stretched out before her, familiar and beloved, but changed. A whole section lay in ruin. Even in the poor light, she could make out the destruction — whole buildings reduced to rubble, and everywhere evidence of fire and fighting and war. The harbor was crowded with ships, all of them with their sails pulled in, none looking as if they planned to leave any time soon. The city stood still and silent, with none of the usual early morning bustle she was used to as the markets came to life.

"What do you think happened?" Turley asked.

Killian started down the hill. "Let's go find out."

They avoided the road and main gate and entered the city instead through the market, sticking to back ways and private paths, ducking through the city until they came to a tavern, still closed up tight for the night. Emma rapped hard on the door and waited, then knocked again.

Behind it, she heard grumbling and muttered curses, then a shout: "Go away! We're closed!"

 _Grumpy_.

"Open up!" she called back. "It's me."

A series of locks clicked and the door swung open.

" _Emma?_ "

The dwarf stared at her, open-mouthed, his lantern held as high as he could get it to illuminate her face. When she smiled, he let out a shout and pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her ribs, his head against her shoulder.

"Where have you been, little sister?" he said, his gruff voice thick with emotion. "We thought you were dead. The Queen — Regina — told everyone you left us, and we knew you wouldn't unless you were—"

"Rumplestiltskin took me," she explained quickly, cutting him off. "Can we come inside?"

Grumpy caught himself and let her go, then motioned everyone into the tavern and closed and locked the door behind them. A second later, the six other dwarves came down the stairs, knuckling at their eyes, wondering what was going on, and Emma found herself mobbed by them, their questions and exclamations overlapping into a cacophony of sound. Thankfully, they also pressed food and drink at her and her companions.

"What happened here?" she finally asked when everyone had sat down and begun to eat. "It almost looks like the city was attacked."

"We were," Grumpy replied. "By ogres. Right after the king and queen…" He drifted off, his expression hardening.

"What?" Emma's voice was small and scared. Hearing it made her feel like a little girl, not like the savior she knew they all hoped she'd be. "Are my parents okay?"

Doc put a hand on her shoulder. "We don't know exactly. They're still in the castle. We tried to get in to see them but no one would let us past the front gate. Rumor around town is that they're…" He had to stop and take a breath. "That if they're not dead, exactly. But they're something close to it."

Emma's whole body went cold.

" _Regina_ …!" she started, full of venom, but Grumpy shook his head.

"No. It happened before Regina got here."

Killian shook his head. "Sorry to break the news, mate, but Regina has been here for weeks, disguised as Emma."

The dwarves exchanged troubled glances.

Emma clenched her hands. " _She_ did this! I'm going to make her pay. For _everything_. Then I'm going to take my kingdom back. Will you help?"

The dwarves all nodded, their voices ringing out in agreement.

"First thing's first," Killian said. "We need a plan."

"Why not just present yourself to the people?" Sneezy suggested. "Regina's been acting like it's some kind of favor she's doing for us, coming in and taking over the kingdom after the king and queen…you know. With the ogres were attacking, a lot of people were glad to have anyone in charge. But if they knew you were alive, everyone would rally around you. No one would accept her as queen."

"I don't think she will give in that easily," Killian replied. "This coup has been planned for some time. She isn't going to go without a fight. She would sooner kill Emma and hold the kingdom by force."

Emma nodded her agreement. "If I'm going to have to fight her, I'd rather do it where as few bystanders as possible will get hurt — in the castle."

"Well, that'll be a trick," Sneezy said. "She's replaced all the castle guards with her own."

"No one is left who might be loyal to me? What about Lancelot?"

Grumpy shook his head. "Sent to battle the ogres."

"Then we'll have to find our own way in."

Emma had lived in the castle all of her life and knew many of its secrets, including several discreet entrances and exits she'd used as a teenager when the stifling life of a princess had occasionally become too much for her — times which seemed illusory and far away now, where she'd cursed her parents and wished herself an orphan, coveting what she imagined as a freer existence of less responsibility, without gowns and court and politics and the weight of a kingdom riding on her shoulders…a _normal_ life.

Now her parents really _were_ gone. And if she survived the day, she would be queen.

_You can't think about that now. Focus…_

As the sun came up and the city outside the tavern windows began to stir, they made their plans.

It was simple, really. Emma would get them in, then the dwarves would take care of any resistance they met inside of the castle while Killian, Emma, and the rest of the crew moved to confront Regina. Seven against one. Overwhelming odds, even when the enemy happened to be well-versed in dark magic.

For the trip through the city, Grumpy found Emma a heavy cloak with a deep hood that would hide her face and hair. She pulled it on as the dwarves readied themselves for battle, producing short swords from their rooms, their faces lit with a kind of melancholy nostalgia as they told her that they'd used the weapons long ago to help her mother escape from Regina's black knights.

Emma pinned the cloak at her throat. "Why were black knights after my mother?"

"She never told you?" Grumpy said. "After Regina became queen, she put out a bounty on Snow's head. Probably worried Snow would fight her for the crown."

"She was the rightful heir, you know," Happy added.

Emma stared at them. "She was _what_?"

"She's the only daughter of King Leopold and Queen Ava. Wasn't till her mom died that the king married Regina's mother. They're step-sisters," Happy replied.

Emma struggled to digest this information. Why had her parents never told her? She'd been aware of a certain amount of tension between the two kingdoms, but she'd never suspected it went so deep — that they were family. Had they purposefully tried to keep it from her? She had never put much time into wondering what her parents had been like before they had become, well… _her parents_. She'd known that her mother and father hadn't gotten along at first and that her mother had been living as a bandit. Emma had always assumed that meant her mother had been a peasant.

There was so much left that she didn't know. So much she'd not thought to ask them.

Her eyes stung to think that she never would.

Killian's hand grasped hers, tight and warm and reassuring.

"Alright, love?"

She smiled and squeezed.

"Let's go."

With her hood drawn up, Emma and her entourage left via the tavern's back door, which put them out into a narrow alley hardly big enough to contain seven dwarves, six pirates, and a princess. As agreed, they split up; such a large group was hardly inconspicuous. Emma went with Killian, Ed, and Grumpy, the four of them sweeping out onto the street first.

Emma peered out from underneath her hood and was aghast at how the city had changed. Not just damage from the ogres, but the atmosphere. She had lived here her entire life and knew the city like a friend — the way the smell of the ocean mixed with that of fresh baked bread and warm chocolate in the morning, the buzz and shrill chirps of hummingbirds flitting between the many flower boxes, and always the bright chatter and busy crush of people. This morning very few stirred on the streets, though she saw movement in several windows. Those who were out went about their business with what struck Emma as an edge of apprehension and fear. Under Regina's rule, the whole city cowered.

No one took note of them as they walked up the main boulevard toward the castle.

Emma bristled at seeing black knights crowded about the gate.

"This way," she said through gritted teeth.

They ducked around the castle, careful to make sure they were not observed, and when they reached the point along the wall where they had agreed to meet up with the rest of the men, they stopped and waited. Emma knew that — at least when her parents had been in charge — this particular section of wall had been poorly guarded. It stretched along an old part of the castle that was not currently occupied, and, except for the stables, contained nothing of value. If there was anywhere they could hope to get in without being seen, it was here.

When the rest of the men arrived, Turley tossed a rope up over the ramparts and then, to make sure that the way was clear, climbed up first.

Emma held her breath as he hopped over the top of the wall and vanished from sight.

If Regina had changed the patrols…

A second later, Turley's head thrust back over the side.

"All clear!" he hissed. "Come up! Quick!"

Killian was the last one up, unable to climb with one hand a hook. He looped the rope around himself, and everyone else hauled him up instead. Emma reached over the side to grasp his jacket and pull him over the rampart.

"Let's get moving," Emma said once they had him safely over. Even here, a patrol would come by eventually. They couldn't afford to linger.

Emma planned to direct them all to the kitchens. It was unlikely that Regina had changed out _all_ of the castle staff, and she trusted those who remained would be loyal enough to conceal her until they were able to figure out where Regina was in the castle. She also hoped they might know something more of the fate of her parents.

They moved quickly through vacant halls, down a twisting staircase, and out into the stables. Most of the stalls stood empty, all of the cavalry gone to battle the ogres. Only the horses belonging to the royal family and those too old or young to send to war remained — including her father's white charger, her mother's gentle mare, and her own dappled gelding. Unable to help herself, Emma stopped in front of the horse, who nickered and tossed his head as she approached. She shushed him, then ran a loving hand down his face and neck.

Outside, a commotion made all of the dwarves raise their weapons.

Men gathering.

Soldiers, Emma guessed from the heavy sound of their footsteps.

Emma motioned to Killian, and they both crept up to the stable door to peer out.

"No wonder we didn't see anyone on patrol," Emma whispered as they looked out across the gathering of black knights in the castle courtyard. Emma sucked in a breath as Regina appeared on a balcony above them. She wore a terribly beautiful, figure hugging black and red dress with a stiff collar that framed her face in spikes and spiderwebs. Her darkly painted mouth was turned down in a hard scowl as she surveyed her men.

"I will not accept any more excuses!" she yelled down at them. "A week! Seven days of sabotage and embarrassment! And somehow _none_ of you have been able to find those responsible! Now get out there and bring me someone to punish, or I start taking hearts!"

An uneasy shiver moved through the crowd of black knights.

"What do you suppose she's talking about?" Killian asked.

Emma shrugged. Maybe those loyal to her parents had been making her life difficult. There were several she could think of who might try such a thing.

They waited for the knights to disperse and for Regina to vanish back into the castle before they slipped across the courtyard.

Once they were back inside, Emma turned to the dwarves. "Go find either Red or Granny. Let them know that I'm here. The rest of us will go on to confront Regina before she moves to another part of the castle. Once we've defeated her, the black knights will have to be rounded up and—"

Hurried steps came rushing toward them from the far end of the hall.

Emma already had a ball of white hot magic humming in her hand when Turley shouted in an amazed voice, "Smee?!"

Smee skidded to a stop and raised a hand to hold onto his hat. Several of the _Jolly Roger's_ missing crew came to a halt behind him. He stared at the dwarves for a second, uncomprehending, before his eyes landed on Turley and then darted to Killian. Emma shook her hand to let the magic dissipate.

"Captain? What are you all doing here? How did you—?"

He didn't get the chance to finish.

"They went that way!" someone called out behind them. A second later, the far end of the hall bristled with soldiers, all of whom came to a stop with an almost comic lurch of surprise when they saw the large group of armed pirates and dwarves waiting for them.

A moment of shocked silence stretched between them, until the knight at the head of the group swept his masked gaze over to where Emma stood, a beacon in such company with her long blonde hair.

"The princess!" he shouted. "Get her!"

_So much for the element of surprise._

The knights charged. Swords clashed. Shouts rang off the walls. In the sharp confines of the hallway, the gnarled mass of men writhed in such a knotted, violent mess that Emma was afraid to use her magic for fear of hitting her own people. She moved to draw her sword instead, but struggled to pull it free among the hectic jostling of elbows.

No matter; the knights were quickly overcome.

Killian, his own sword bloody, stood over the pile of prone bodies and tilted his head at his erstwhile crew members.

"An explanation, Mr. Smee!"

"Yes, sir! We've been sticking to the mission, Captain. Been doing everything in our power to undermine the Queen, until just now when we were caught trying to get to Skylights's body. Regina had him moved from the chapel and strung up along part of the western wall. Sending a message to anyone who might try and oppose her, we thought. But it must've been a trap, because those damn knights were on us as soon as we showed up. Figured with all of 'em gathered in the courtyard, we might have time to get him and run…"

"Wait. Skylights is dead?"

Smee nodded, his eyes downcast. "Aye."

In the pained silence that followed, Emma reached out and set her hand on top of Killian's. "Regina has a lot to answer for. And she will. We'll make sure of it."

"You're right," he said, then shook his head and visibly drew himself up. To his men, he gave an encouraging glance. "This is the moment we've been working toward, men. Vengeance! For Liam! _And_ for Skylights!"

They raised their swords, echoing his cry.

The dwarves nodded in solidarity.

"We'll go find Red," Grumpy said. "See if we can buy you some time and get these knights off your tail."

Emma smiled and nodded her thanks, then waved the crew to fall in behind her.

They were on the clock now. With the black knights already searching the castle for Smee and his men, they'd have to move fast.

Emma figured that Regina was probably making herself comfortable in the royal chambers — the balcony she had appeared to deliver her speech on branched off a sitting room that made up the heart of the royal family's apartments in the castle.

She knew the quickest route there, and as the dwarves split off to rally the castle staff, she led her group through doorways, past startled maids, and up a steep, narrow stair.

Her footsteps faltered as she passed the double door leading into the chapel. A heaviness came upon her with such force that her knees threatened to give way. She stumbled and reached for the wall. Killian's hook scraped against stone as he caught her in his left arm.

It was here, just beyond the doors, that her parents' bodies laid in state.

Breathless, she struggled to rein in her emotions as the reality of all that had happened while she'd been gone threatened to crush her.

It was nearly too much to bear. Too much to think about now.

She had to _believe_ …

She had already faced sirens and ogres. She'd matched wits with and escaped the Dark One. She'd discovered her magic and learned how to use it. She'd become something bigger and stronger and better than she had been before — tempered by battle, strengthened by love. If anyone could save this family, surely it was her.

As she steadied, Killian released her.

Emma tossed off her cloak and unsheathed her sword before striding on with purpose, up to the sitting room door.

With a deep breath and a steadying glance at the group of men poised and ready to follow her into battle, she grasped the handle, found it unlocked, and swung the heavy door open.

She rushed inside, and the pirate crew flooded in behind her, weapons drawn.

Regina sat stretched out on a lounge chair by the window with a glistening red apple in one hand, her other arm tossed over the back and her feet comfortably drawn up, sun streaming in across the her black and red skirt.

"Hello, Emma." She smiled, the expression threatening rather than warm. "Oh. And you brought the pirate with you, too! Good. We can get all of this done at once."

Killian snarled.

Emma advanced on Regina, sword held out, fury radiating off her like a storm cloud. "Get _out_ of my mother's chair!" she commanded, teeth gritted.

Regina laughed and held up the apple to take a bite. "I don't think so."

"Then I'll kill you," Emma warned her. And though she had never thought of herself as the sort of person who could ever have murder in her heart, she meant it.

"Oh, please." Regina rolled her eyes.

"You don't think I can do it?"

"I'm sure you, the one-handed-wonder over there, and your pitiful little army would try." Regina swung her legs down to the floor and stood up. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Killian move closer to her. "But as it happens," Regina continued, " _you_ are not my problem anymore."

Emma's back stiffened.

A hint of foreboding must have touched across her face, because Regina grinned.

"You're _his_ to deal with now," she said, and gestured behind them.

Emma's stomach dropped as she turned around.

Rumplestiltskin stood leaning against the wall just inside the door. She was sure he hadn't been there when they'd come in. His fingers danced and he tittered with manic delight as the crew shifted so that their eyes met.

"Hello, dearie."


	18. In Which Light Battles Dark

Wild confusion, and the swarthy glow  
Of flames on high, and torches from below;  
The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell—  
For swords clash, and shouts to swell—  
Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of Hell!  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 18: In Which Light Battles Dark

Emma's blood turned to ice as Rumplestiltskin smirked at her.

"How did you get here?" she asked, trying and failing to keep fear from making her voice quaver.

He laughed and unsheathed a dagger from his belt. The familiar, wavy edge and black design that spelled out his name along the blade told her exactly what had happened.

"You didn't think my son could keep this from me for long, did you?"

"Did you hurt him? Is he—?"

"Dead? Of course not. I'm the Dark One. Not a monster."

From her place at the window behind them, Regina snorted. "That's debatable."

Rumple ignored her and held out his hand to Emma. "Come with me."

"So you can steal my magic? I don't think so."

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. I'm not giving you a _choice_ , dearie. There's nowhere you can run. Nowhere you can escape to that I won't find you."

He took a step toward her, and Killian's sword flashed as he swung it up to stop the other man's advance. The rest of the crew followed suit and closed in around Emma, a bristling wall of steel.

"That's close enough, Crocodile."

"Ah yes," Rumple said on a sigh. "The pirates. As I seem to recall, the last time we met, I tossed the whole lot of you to the wind, took _your_ hand, and got away with the girl. What makes you think this time will be any different?"

"Me," Emma replied, defiant. " _I'm_ different. This won't be an easy fight."

Rumple grinned and raised a hand. "Oh? We'll see about that."

With a clench of his fingers, Killian went tense. His boots scraped against the floor as he rose up off the ground, choking and gasping for breath.

"Perhaps you'd like to make a deal?" Rumple said, his voice pitched high with pleasure. "Your life for his! Come with me, and I'll—"

Emma didn't give him the chance to finish. The shockwave of magic she released threw Rumple across the room and slammed him into the wall. Beside her, Killian dropped back to the floor with a thud. And as the crew rushed forward to attack, Emma wavered on her feet. The rush of power left her shuddering, hollowed out and frail as a cinder. Her eyes watered from the brilliant flash of light. She put out a hand to steady herself and a strong arm came around her waist. Her fingers found a grip on Killian's leather coat as the room resolved once more into blurry familiarity.

"No wonder he wants to keep you," Regina said from behind them. "Unfortunately for you both, I am not interested in making any deals!"

Flames whizzed past as Killian tugged them both out of the way.

She clung to him as he swung around, pivoting to parry with his sword — a meager weapon against dark magic, but fairly sparking with courage. Emma breathed deep and pressed close as her love for him began to lend strength to her magic once more.

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Captain," Regina said. "What do you think you can do to save her? You're just prolonging the inevitable. Let the imp take her, and I'll make it quick. You can die by my hand the same as your brother. Call it a family tradition."

An angry muscle twitched in Killian's jaw.

Regina laughed. "Don't tell me you think you could actually win this fight!"

Behind them, several voices cried out from within the scuffle surrounding Rumplestiltskin. Emma ducked as someone flew past her to land in a crumpled heap near the window. Even fourteen to one, the crew were no match for the Dark One.

"Go help the men," Killian said to Emma, his voice low, his eyes locked on Regina. "I'll handle the Queen."

"But—"

"Trust me." For the briefest moment, his eyes flicked to hers, and she saw a flash of anguish and fear, but also of resolute faith. "I don't intend to die today. Or to lose you. Help the men. Get the dagger."

She spared him a moment's hesitation as magic roared within her. Then, as if by agreement, they moved as one.

Emma slipped from his grip at the same instant as he erupted forward, flinging himself at Regina with a furious cry and a slashing sword. His long coat brushed past her legs in his wake, the whisper of a goodbye. Her heart ached. She fought the urge to glance over her shoulder at him even as Rumplestiltskin fought his way free of the throng in front of her — the crew parting before him like a curtain billowing on the wind.

The Dark One's leather jerkin was ripped and slashed, pierced half a dozen times over by the crew's swords. None had done him any harm. He shook himself off and casually cracked his neck. When his reptilian gaze met Emma's, she couldn't suppress a shiver of dread.

 _You can do this_ , she told herself. _You've got to._

His dagger lay sheathed against his hip, the hilt jutting forward. All she had to do was find a way to take it.

With a deep breath, she reached out with one hand and summoned it to her.

She was not at all surprised when it failed to vanish and reappear in her grip.

Rumple wagged a finger at her. "Now-now, dearie. You know what they say! Fool me once..." He snickered. "I admit, I was impressed that you managed to snatch the urn from me. But do you really think I'd fall for that again?"

Emma didn't reply.

Instead, she hurled herself at him.

Rumplestiltskin waved his fingers, summoning a spell. It hit Emma with the concussive force of a tidal wave. She stumbled. The world spun. Then, from somewhere deep within, an equally strong force surged forth, took hold of her, and punched a path straight through to her target. The flare of her own blazing, white magic dazzled her eyes.

Rumple made a startled sound.

And then she was on top of him, driving her cutlass through him and into the wall, pinning him there while her free hand grasped for the dagger.

He wrenched himself away just as her fingertips brushed the hilt.

Slippery as an eel, he vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving her sword behind, and reappeared at her back.

Emma swung around, sword forgotten, her teeth gritted, and cracked her knuckles painfully across his jaw. His head snapped back. The sheer force of the blow spun him on his heel.

When his eyes flashed back to hers, his expression had lost all traces of humor.

"You'll pay for that, dearie. There won't be any comfortable room in the dungeon for you now. This time, it's straight to the urn. And I'll make sure Regina finishes the job on your beloved pirate before I put you there," he snarled.

Emma darted a glance over his shoulder.

What remained of the crew had flocked to Killian's defense and stood close around him, deflecting fireballs and haranguing the queen as she swept through the room, managing to keep all of them at bay with her black magic.

Though she took her eyes off the Dark One for only a split second, it was enough.

Rumple dove at her and plunged his hand deep into her chest. All of the air was forced out of her lungs in a harsh gasp. Pain radiated out like a halo of fire from where his wrist vanished between her ribs in a blinding rift of magic. Deep inside of her chest, his hand closed hard around her heart.

She clawed and pulled at his arm, but he had her fast. "You can't..." she began, the words breathless and weak. "You can't pull it out. Remember? You can't use my heart to control me."

He used his grip to tug her close. She stumbled into him with a cry, her heart struggling to beat within his iron grasp.

"I can do plenty of damage with it right where it is."

To prove his point, he squeezed. Emma saw black and her legs gave way. She was only dimly aware of her knees hitting the floor and the agonized wail that forced its way up from her throat.

Rumple bent and whispered in her ear, "You see? Come with me now like a good girl, and I won't have to do that again."

Bleary and disoriented, Emma struggled to stay upright.

"Never!" she rasped.

"Why? Your parents are dead. Your kingdom is lost. There's nothing left for you here."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" He wrenched her around by pulling her heart against the solid barrier of magic holding it inside, then propped her chin up with his free hand when she lost focus, the world threatening to fall out from underneath her. "Look!" he hissed.

She blinked hard, her vision a turbulent sea of dueling energies.

Across the room, the last of the crew fell away before the Evil Queen — men everywhere in various states of distress. Only Killian remained standing. Blood was smeared virulent red against his cheek.

Their eyes met across the distance, and his whole face went deathly pale at the sight of her on her knees, at Rumple's mercy.

"Emma! No!"

He sprinted toward her, but Regina knocked him back with a blast of magic.

"Admit defeat, and I won't make you watch," Rumple snarled in her ear.

Emma shook her head and groaned in misery. "No... No!"

Killian got back to his feet, sword ready.

Regina responded by conjuring a hail of glass shards, which she threw at him with a swipe of her hand. He ducked, one arm thrown up over his face. The glass ripped into his heavy coat and rang off his hook and sword. He cried out as a few found their way through to flesh.

"I can feel the despair in your heart," Rumple whispered. "Give up."

Emma swung at him feebly, every movement sending shivers of pain through to her very soul.

"I won't let you take my magic! Not ever! You'll have to kill me first!"

"Don't misunderstand me, that is _not_ out of the question. I'll have your power, or no one will! But it's not your life we're talking about here. Is it?"

Darkness encroached on the edge of her vision while, across from her, Killian straightened once more. His chest heaved with the effort it took to keep going, and his gaze drifted constantly to Emma. The Queen's next fireball knocked his sword from his hand. It clattered to the floor and slid to a stop a few feet from where Rumplestiltskin had Emma on her knees.

"What do you say, dearie? Break his heart and come with me? Or let the Queen crush it instead?"

Emma grit her teeth.

Regina advanced on Killian, giddy with impending victory.

Summoning nearly everything she had, Emma willed the sword back into Killian's hand.

He jumped, startled when it reappeared against his palm, but recovered in time to take a swing at the equally surprised Regina. The sword's edge sung as it sliced through the air. Regina gasped and fell back as step, one hand raised to the angry, red line he'd left traced across her collarbone. A little closer, and it would have slashed her throat.

Killian flashed her a feral grin.

Rumple let out an exasperated grunt. "Enough!"

She had a moment's respite as he pulled his hand free of her chest. Her heart surged. Blood and the tingle of magic flooded back into her extremities. But then Rumple flicked his fingers, and a thick, green cloud enveloped her.

She recognized immediately what was about to happen, a shiver of memory telling her she'd been here once before. He meant to transform her into something small and mindless, something he could spirit away more easily back to his estate.

Emma pushed back against the darkness, suffusing it with light.

The spell flickered and trembled. Threatened to break.

Then it strengthened and closed in on her once again.

_No!_

She couldn't do it.

She wasn't strong enough...

Her mind began to cloud. Her skin crawled. The fabric of her very being threatened to collapse.

A shout rang out through the fog.

"Emma! Stay with me, love! Fight!"

She shook with the effort of holding out against Rumplestiltskin's magic. Into the blinding void of the spell, she cried and screamed and thought of all that she'd lose if she gave in — of the kingdom that needed her, of family she'd taken for granted, and of the man who'd only just begun to show her what it meant to love and be loved in return.

With all they had been through, all of the distance they had crossed to find one another, it couldn't end here.

It _wouldn't._

Her magic coiled with a fierce intensity that startled her, left her shivering in its grip, and then exploded outward, ripping Rumplestiltskin's spell apart and casting it off as if it were nothing.

Free of it, she collapsed to the floor on her hands and knees, gasping and weak.

Rumple stared at her, mouth hanging open in astonishment.

"Papa!" A shout came from the window. "Papa, stop!"

Dizzy, Emma looked up as Baelfire came flying in through the open balcony window on an old, rather threadbare carpet. It lurched to a sudden stop and he tumbled awkwardly off it onto the castle floor, barely managing to keep his feet under him. His hair was mussed and his cheeks red from the long journey. He tottered slightly on his feet, like someone who had been long at sea and not quite gotten their land legs back again.

Regina and Killian had to dive apart as the carpet careened between them to crash into the wall.

"Baelfire?" Rumple said, his tone shifting from shock to anger. "What are you doing here?"

"Putting a stop to this!" Baelfire replied. "You have to choose! It's me, or your magic!"

Rumple scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Without my magic, I'm—"

"A good man!" Bae interrupted. "And a good father! We can go back to that. You don't have to be the Dark One."

"It's not a job, you idiot!" Regina snarled. "He can't just quit!"

Killian took the opening to lunge at her. His sword tore through the fabric of her skirt as she leapt out of the way, and they crashed together to the floor in a heap of dark silk, leather, and sparking magic.

Still barely able to move, Emma glanced from them back to Rumple, who had spun around to face his bedraggled son. At his hip, the razor edge of his dagger gleamed.

"You _can_ quit," Baelfire insisted, then reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small, crystalline bean. "This can open a portal to any land we want. We could go somewhere without magic! You could be free of this! Papa...we could be a family again!"

Her heart still burning from Rumple's cold grasp, body still aching with the magic that had moved through it, Emma leaned forward, stretching her hand out toward the dagger.

If Bae noticed, he was kind enough not to glance in her direction, because Rumple didn't move.

"A land without magic?" he said, incredulous. "Even if a place like that existed, why would you want to go there? Do you know what our lives would be like? I'm powerful here! I'm—"

"You're a villain!" Baelfire shouted. He closed his hand firm around the bean and set his jaw in a determined line. "I won't live like this anymore! Come with me, Papa!"

With that, he swung his arm back and tossed the bean onto the floor. It exploded into a mass of green, swirling light. The floor opened up beneath it, resolving into a terrifying vortex that spiraled off into infinity.

At the same time, Emma closed her fingers around the dagger's hilt and pulled it free of the sheath at Rumple's hip.

A sharp, uncanny wind pulled at her hair and clothing, stirred up by the portal. She fell back, grasping at the floor with her free hand.

"Come with me!" Bae shouted over the portal's unearthly roar.

Rumple shook his head.

"Papa! Please!"

In her lap, Emma squeezed the dagger.

"Go with him," she whispered.

Rumple took a step forward, then another. Emma watched, the dagger warm and tingling against her palm, as he walked all the way over to his son, whose face broke into a relieved grin.

Only once Rumple clasped Bae's hand did he seem to realize that he'd done none of it of his own will. His head snapped around and he glared at Emma — one chilling glance from his unnatural, yellow-green eyes — before Bae tugged his arm and leapt.

The abyss swallowed them whole. Not even a ripple was left behind.

Emma stared, unable to look away from where they had stood a second before at the frothing, windswept edge of the portal.

A shout from Killian snapped her back to attention.

Regina had him by the collar. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his sword and now had his fingers clenched tight around her wrist, holding back her other hand, which struggled toward his chest, seeking out his heart. He twisted and fought in her grasp, stronger than her for all of her magic. But she held tight, her knuckles white with strain against the black leather of his coat.

Emma tossed the dagger aside and surged to her feet, magic already humming at her fingertips.

Before she could do anything, Killian brought up his hook and sank it into Regina's arm.

She released him with a shriek.

"That was for Emma!" he shouted. "And _this_ is for my brother!"

He lowered his shoulder and rammed into her, knocking her back toward the open mouth of the portal.

Regina screamed and clawed at him with pinwheeling arms as the universe dropped out from underneath her. In a frenzy as she fell, she managed to find purchase on the tail end of his leather coat.

With a surprised cry, he fell to his knees and, grasping at the floor with both hand and hook, managed to stop himself from getting pulled in with her, though his legs dangled across the brink.

"No!" Emma ran toward them, her legs still weak and uncertain.

Regina kicked and struggled.

Killian's hook screeched across the stone floor.

Heart thundering in her ears, Emma slid onto her knees, diving for his hand.

Her fingers closed tight around his. Immediately, she kicked her feet out in front of her and planted them firm against the floor.

"I've got you!" She hauled him toward her and reached forward enough to grab hold of his wrist with her other hand.

He turned to look up at her, his blue eyes wide and desolate. "Don't let it take you, too, love!"

"I'm _not_ letting you go. Hold on!"

Beyond him, the edge of the portal trembled and shimmered.

"Help me!" Regina wailed. "Emma! Please! You can't do this to me! I'm family!"

Emma groaned and tried to shut out the other woman's words. The strain on her arms was incredible. Her feet were slipping along the floor. She couldn't have pulled the both of them out even if she'd wanted to. The Queen was lost. But Killian...

He turned his face down and his fingers moved against hers, as if he were thinking of letting go.

"Killian! No!" she said as she redoubled her grip, her voice cracking. His whole body was outlined before her by the green halo of the portal. It whipped his hair and his jacket. "Don't stop fighting for me now! Not when we're so close!"

So close to completing their quest.

So close to starting a new life together...

The portal shuddered and groaned. And Killian titled his head back to draw in a deep breath.

Then, with an animal cry, he wrenched himself around, rolling onto his stomach. Regina swung beneath him. And as her grip faltered, he kicked hard. The movement jostled Emma forward. Her feet slipped dangerously across the floor toward the portal. But his boot connected with Regina's arm, a firm blow that tore away the last of her desperate grip on his coat.

Her scream echoed up into the room as she fell away into the unknown.

Killian and Emma tumbled free, crashing backward onto the floor together in a breathless, windblown heap just shy of the portal's lip.

With a deep, unsettling quiver, the portal snapped shut beside them.

Emma didn't move. Her heart was still racing, her breath coming fast. Killian laid gasping on top of her. His weight was reassuringly solid, his breath steady and warm.

"Alright, love?" he murmured.

She opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by something rattling against the floor.

They turned as one to look.

Across the room, where Emma had dropped it, the Dark One dagger bounced and shuddered. The entire blade glowed a dangerous, molten orange.

"Oh, bloody hell..."

Killian ducked down over her, his arms thrown up to shelter her head and face.

A second later, the dagger exploded. It was silent — surreal — but Emma felt the heat of it all the same.

Crackling power washed across them like a wildfire as the dagger erupted into a storm of magic. Killian's stubble scraped against her cheek, the only real thing in a haze of darkness, as they cowered together in the grip of the hurricane.

Then, with a keening wail, it dissipated like so much steam, and all of the magic that the Dark Ones had spent eons collecting went screaming back out into the world.

Silence fell, eerie in its completeness.

Slowly, Killian lifted his head and Emma opened her eyes to look up at him.

They blinked at each other, stillness settling around them like a blanket.

"What in blazes was that?"

"I think...the portal must have severed the connection between Rumple and the dagger, breaking the Dark One curse. Or whatever it was." Emma let go of his coat — which she hadn't even realized she'd been gripping — and raised a hand to cradle his face. His hair was askew and blood smeared his cheek from a thin cut that would probably leave a scar. "Are you...?"

"Aye." A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "A little worse for wear, but I'll live."

In that moment, it hit her.

They'd _won_.

"We did it," she breathed in amazement. "We're alive! Oh my gods, Killian! I can't believe we're alive!"

He grinned, dipped his head, and kissed her. Emma threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close. Her whole body trembled with relief and euphoria and the after-effects of too much adrenaline. Against her ribs, she felt Killian shuddering, too. A breathless laugh escaped from between their lips.

The moment she had locked eyes with Rumplestiltskin, she'd lost all hope that the day might come to this — both of them well and in each other's arms, the Dark One vanquished, the Evil Queen banished to another realm. The kingdom was saved! Killian's brother avenged!

Their quest was complete.

Almost...

Emma put her palms against Killian's shoulders and eased him back.

He lifted his head and looked down at her, eyebrows drawn in a kind of dazed befuddlement.

"What is it?"

"My parents," she murmured.

His expression sobered. "Aye. Of course."

Dread knotted in Emma's stomach. Her mouth went dry. And she let out a shaky sigh as Killian rested his forehead against hers.

"Come on, love. I'll help you up."

As they got to their feet, members of the crew began to stir. Over Killian's shoulder, Emma saw Ed sit up and press a hand to the back of his head, which came back smeared with blood.

"You should see to the men first," Emma said. "I'll go ahead."

Killian squeezed her hand. "They can wait if you need me to come with you."

"No. I'll be okay." She smiled reassuringly. "I think I just... I need to face this alone."

Killian nodded. "I'll join you as soon as I can."

Grateful, Emma rose up on her toes to brush a quick kiss across his lips before she turned to leave. It gave her some measure of strength as she strode alone out into the hallway and up to the chapel door.

She stood before it for a second, heart pounding, before she flattened her hands against the wood and pushed.

It opened hard, heavy with the weight of what she knew would meet her on the other side.

She took her time, letting it swing along the old, creaky hinges, shoring up the tattered edges of her heart. Still, she was not prepared to see her mother and father — the two people upon whom she had always relied, who had been as steady and constant to her as the ground beneath her feet — laid out in deathly repose.

She took in a long breath and held it as she stared at them.

Snow was the closer of the two, her long dress draped over the edge of the altar turned sepulcher on which she had been lain. Her expression was serene but vacant…no longer Emma's mother, but a figure of her.

Unease stirring low in her stomach, Emma approached, leaving the door open behind her.

Tears stung the back of her eyes as she took Snow's hand in her own. It was not cold, but not suffused with the warmth of life either.

"Oh, Mom." Emma's voice cracked. "I'm so sorry."

She'd hoped that defeating the Queen might break all of her spells. Or that there'd be some obvious means of breaking their curse, something that her newly acquired knowledge of magic might guide her to.

But she knew nothing except soul-deep sadness as she stood over her mother, powerless to do anything except collapse under the grief welling up inside of her.

While she had known in a rational kind of way that she would one day say goodbye to her parents and live on without them, it wasn't something she had thought she'd confront so soon.

And, in any case, this was different. She couldn't walk away and tell herself that they were in a better place, beyond pain and suffering.

Perhaps they were tormented even now, caught forever in deathless sleep that would never allow them to truly rest...

She rocked back and forth on her knees next to her mother's body for a minute, wracked with grief and at a loss for anything else to do.

Her vision blurred as a hot tear tracked down her cheek. "Maybe if I'd done more to save Regina, she'd have been able to help you..." she whispered, half to herself, half to her mother — a kind of confession.

"Don't kid yourself, love," came Killian's gentle voice from the doorway behind her. "She would not have helped you, purely for spite. It's a mercy merely that you let her live."

Emma turned and saw him standing with several members of the crew in the hallway behind him, the lot of them bruised and bloody but alive. Ed caught her eye and sent her an encouraging smile that belied the tender sadness on his face.

"Give us a moment, mates," Killian said with a wave of his hook.

Heads bowed, they peeled away.

Killian came in and rested a comforting hand upon Emma's shoulder as she turned back toward her parents.

"I let them down," she said and glanced across to her father.

"No. You didn't," Killian said gently. He got down on his knees beside her. "I only knew your father briefly, but I know that he'd be proud of what you accomplished today. I'm sure your mother would be as well. You did the impossible. You saved the kingdom. You're a hero."

She shrugged one shoulder.

The victory rang bittersweet against the loss of her family.

Heaving a sigh, she let her head fall to the side to rest against Killian's shoulder.

"We'll find a way to bring them back," he said. "I promise. If there's a way in all the realms, I'll help you find it."

She nodded.

"Give me a second to say goodbye?"

"Of course."

He stood, and Emma turned her attention back to her mother.

As she got back to her feet, she was filled with fierce, unwavering love. For all the years that her parents had given her. All of the late nights and sacrifices. All of the worry and affection. She'd never known how much it had all meant to her until now.

Eyes still wet with tears, she bent and kissed her mother's forehead.

A ripple disturbed the air — something cool and crisp, like a first breath after a summer rain.

Below her, Snow White stirred.

Emma drew back in astonishment.

" _Mom?_ "

"Emma?" Snow's eyelashes fluttered open.

Behind her, Emma heard Killian gasp in surprise.

Snow's expression shifted quickly from confusion to delight as she sat up and threw her arms tight around Emma in a powerful embrace. "Oh, sweetheart!"

"Mom!" Emma repeated with a laugh. "You're awake! How? What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine!" She pushed Emma back, held her by the shoulders. "I don't know what happened. How did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was searching for your father when… Oh, no! Emma! Your father!"

Emma's gaze snapped up, hopeful that whatever had woke her mother had roused her father as well. Snow followed her gaze to the form of the king, laid out a few feet away.

Her stomach dropped.

No visible breath moved in his chest and no flush of blood colored his cheeks. His body stood still and hollow.

"Oh no… _David_ …"

Snow moaned and slipped off the altar onto her feet, which proved unsteady after her long sleep. She collapsed against her husband's chest, a look of anguish on her face. Emma took a step back, right into Killian who caught her about the shoulders, as her mother cupped her father's face and bid him to wake.

"What happened to him?" Snow asked.

Emma shook her head. "I don't know. I found you both like this."

"Well...you brought me back. What did you do?"

"I'm not sure! It just happened!"

Killian nudged Emma forward. "Perhaps it was your kiss," he suggested.

"What? You mean, like...true love's kiss?" Emma said.

He shrugged.

It was a thing of bedtime stories, something that she thought only existed in folk tales. But in a day that had included portals, magic carpets, and exploding daggers, it didn't seem beyond the realm of possibility. Rumplestiltskin had said that her own magic came from being a product of true love. Maybe that alone made her kiss powerful enough to break the curse.

It was worth a try.

Snow stepped aside as Emma approached her father.

The room went tense as Emma looked down at him, reflecting on all of the years that they had spent together. In many ways, she had always been closer to her father. They had more in common. She'd always been a daddy's girl. He'd taught her how to ride a horse and wield a sword. More often than not, he'd been the comforting hand on her shoulder when life knocked her down. And while her mother had never ceased to be supportive and loving and everything a mother ought to be, it was her father who had truly understood her.

She needed him.

Snow needed him.

The whole country needed its king.

Emma took in a deep, steadying breath and bent to kiss his forehead, just as she had with her mother.

The air shuddered and rippled. A wave of power radiated out.

Emma leaned back and everyone else around her leaned in.

Snow's fingers tightened against her husband's arm.

But the king did not wake.

Emma shook him.

"Dad?"

The king's head lolled back and forth against the table.

"Daddy? _Daddy!_ Wake up!"

A sob rose in her throat and caught there when she tried to swallow it back. For a brief moment, she couldn't breathe.

"This doesn't make sense. Why didn't it work?"

She'd felt the magic. She was sure of it. So why didn't he open his eyes? Why didn't he look up at her and smile and tuck her head against his shoulder the way he always had? He couldn't spend forever trapped like this. Not alive but not truly dead either. What kind of fate was that for a man like him?

Her heart pounded in her ears.

This couldn't be happening. It _had_ to work!

"Maybe I did it wrong. I'll try again!"

"Oh, honey." Snow slung an arm over Emma's shoulders to stop her. "It's okay. We'll figure it out. You'll see."

Emma shook her head. "How do you know?"

"Because that's what we do. In this family, we don't give up on each other."

Snow brushed a tear off Emma's cheek and pulled her back a step, away from the still form of her father.

They turned toward Killian, and Emma reached out to him without thinking. Only once she had moved from her mother's embrace into his, her cheek pressed flush against the warmth of his chest and the reassuring rhythm of his heart, did she recall that her family knew nothing of their relationship.

Blinking hard, Emma glanced over her shoulder at her mother.

"Captain Jones?" Snow said, confused and wary and glossy-eyed with her own unshed tears.

"Aye." He inclined his head in a respectful half bow while his arm curled protectively around Emma, tucking her close. "My crew and I are honored to be at your service, Your Majesty."

Snow's gaze, still raw and unsteady, shifted to take in the crew, all of whom shuffled uncertainly in the doorway and offered her bashful, half smiles marred by cuts and bruises. Even from a distance, and the heavy smell of spent dark magic rose off them like a fog. They were soldiers, come back from war. And Snow, to her credit, recognized it.

"It appears to have been quite the day for us all." She glanced at Emma and drew in a steadying breath.

Emma reluctantly let go of Killian and rejoined her mother.

"We should go," Killian said and gestured toward the door. "There's work left to do here. But we'll have to be careful. All of the palace guard has been dispatched to the front against the ogres. The castle is now held entirely by Black Knights."

"Black Knights?" Snow's eyebrows shot up. "I hope you brought reinforcements."

"Um...a few," Emma replied.

Emma cast one final glance back at her father as they closed the chapel doors behind them, sealing him in. Who knew how long he'd sleep there? Maybe forever.

Grief sent a shudder through her, and Snow gave her a reassuring squeeze.

The castle hallways were empty of both staff and knights. They finally found the dwarves engaged in a pitched battle out in the courtyard, along with Red and Granny, who had a crossbow perched across one arm and a deadly squint in her eyes that said she knew damn well how to use it.

The moment Snow and Emma appeared to join in the fray, the knights gave ground and turned to flee.

"Snow!" A cheer went up among the dwarves and they crowded around her, shifting Emma aside, and enveloping Snow in a raucous group hug that nearly knocked her down.

"We thought we'd lost you!" Grumpy said with a grin.

Doc scoffed and boxed Grumpy on the side of the head.

"Don't listen to him. We never lost faith! We knew you'd beat the Evil Queen, just like you always used to."

Snow laughed and put her arms around everyone she could reach.

Red turned to Emma. "So, the Evil Queen is…?"

"Gone," she replied. "For good."

Word spread quickly of Regina's defeat, and the knights were easily routed from the rest of the castle. Most of them, it seemed, were neither loyal enough nor foolish enough to fight to the last man standing.

As the dwarves chased the last of them off through the open gates, Snow looked past them to the tattered kingdom beyond.

"Regina did all this?" she said, aghast. "I didn't realize she still hated me so much…"

"I'm not sure that she did, Your Majesty," Killian replied. "I think she feared that you might one day take her kingdom back."

With a regretful sigh, Snow turned to him. "Perhaps I should have. I thought that by giving up and staying away, I'd save lives. I thought we could have peace between us. If I hadn't abandoned my kingdom, if I hadn't run away…"

She didn't finish the sentence, but Emma knew what she meant.

Maybe then David would still be okay and not locked in deathless sleep.

Maybe the thousands who had suffered under Regina's rule could have been saved.

Maybe all of this could have been avoided.

But maybe David would have died sooner instead, back when Emma was still a baby. Maybe she'd have grown up never knowing him and his love. Or with no parents at all. Who might she have become as an orphan tossed to the wind?

"Let's not spend our time regretting the past," Red cut in. "We've got a kingdom to put back together."

While Snow saw to getting the palace back in order, Emma went in search of the doctor. She left the crew of the _Jolly Roger_ in the care of the palace physician and sat down to tend to Killian's wounds herself. His coat was in tatters, his back bloody from the glass shards, and he needed what would surely amount to an astonishing amount of stitches. But as she lowered him onto a bed and turned to fetch a rag and water, he caught her hand.

"I'm fine, love. Go to your mother."

"But—"

He shook his head. "You lost your father today. And she her husband. The two of you need each other right now."

Emma didn't want to leave. She didn't want to face her mother and her grief again. But he was right — she needed to.

Emma found Snow standing outside of her bedchamber, looking distant and lost. Her expression warmed with a smile when she saw Emma approaching.

They sat down to talk.

"Are you okay?" Emma asked.

Snow nodded. "I will be. Your dad and I...we've been through a lot together. We'll get through this, too. I know it."

Emma wasn't sure whether her mother was putting on a brave face or if she truly had such stalwart faith in the ability of love to conquer all. But she decided not to question it. If they could both go on believing for a little longer...maybe everything would be alright after all.

"So," Snow said with a nudge and a fragile smile. "Captain Jones?"

Emma blushed, then began to tell her mother all that had happened, starting with her abduction. While she left out the more intimate details, she supposed that Snow found it easy enough to guess what had happened between her daughter and the pirate captain, cloistered together in the cabin of his ship.

Emma's stomach fluttered with nerves as she met her mother's eyes, but she found no judgement there.

"I'd like to get to know him better, of course," she said with a shake of her head. "But it sounds like he'd go to the end of the earth for you. I mean — he _did_. He broke out of here and went to face the Dark One to try and save you."

"Not exactly the way you want a guy to meet your parents, you know," Emma said with forced levity. "By being thrown into their dungeon."

Snow buried her face in her hands. "I know! Oh, gods, Emma. I'm so sorry that we didn't recognize Regina for what she was sooner. I mean, how did she fool us? The thought that I don't even recognize my own daughter..."

"It's okay. You didn't have any reason to think she wasn't me. I don't think that 'magical imposter' is a conclusion most people jump to easily."

"We knew something wasn't right. Your Captain Jones even tried to tell us. But it was so easy to believe that he was the villain. I feel awful at the way we treated him." She sent Emma a small smile. "A pirate captain wouldn't have been my first pick for you, I admit. But all I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. Your father and I—" She had to stop and collect herself. "We married for love. The King didn't like it. He even tried to break us up once. But we always found our way back to each other." She reached out and gripped Emma's hands warm in her own. "I don't want to come between you and someone you love like that, no matter who it is."

Grateful, Emma sank into her mother's arms and told the last of her tale — of returning to the city to battle the Dark One and the Evil Queen.

"So, Regina fell into the portal?" Snow made a sound somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "Do you suppose she survived?"

"I don't think Baelfire would have jumped in if he thought it was going to kill them. He wanted a new start."

"I wonder where it took them…?"

"He said to a land without magic."

"Oh, I'm sure Regina will enjoy that." Snow laughed. She was quiet for a moment, contemplative before she continued, "You know…despite everything…I hope she finds some peace there. She's family. I loved her once."

Emma did not harbor any such kind wishes but said nothing.

With a shake of her head, Snow got up. "What do you say we go see how Captain Jones _—_ sorry — I mean, see how _Killian_ is doing and eat some dinner?"

Emma smiled. "That sounds nice."

"And in the meantime…maybe you can tell me more about this magic of yours?"

"Sure," Emma said, the flush of true love warm at her fingertips.

She followed her mother out, full of sadness at what she was leaving behind and hope at all that now lay before her.

* * *

The dark forest was shrouded in a mist whose cold, dank chill shook Regina to her very bones. Arms drawn about her, shivering and miserable, she tried in vain to summon fire from the air, but no magic came to her. Instead a drizzling rain began to pelt down through the canopy, leaving spotty prints on her dress and wetting the lace down to her skin. With a growl, she lifted the skirt, already heavy with mud and sticks, up to her knees and trudged on, over a fallen tree covered in lichen.

Behind her, Baelfire leapt on top of the tree and then back down with a jaunty flourish.

"Hold on, Papa. I'll help you over."

Rumplestiltskin — the Dark One, feared in all the realms — had twisted his ankle when he landed in this one and was now hobbling along with a tree branch for a crutch.

"I don't need any help!" he snarled and batted his son away.

"Oh for pity's sake, just let him lift you over the damned thing," Regina snapped. "I'd like to get out of the rain sometime this year! We don't have time to wait for you, old man."

"Look who's talking, dearie! You're not exactly looking so fresh yourself!"

Indeed, when they'd come through the portal, the glamor spell that Regina had maintained for the past twenty-odd years to keep her youthful glow had been broken. Now, much to her chagrin, she looked very much her age.

But that was nothing compared to the transformation Rumple had undergone.

His glittery, scaled skin had vanished, replaced with the tanned, lined complexion of a man who'd spent much of his life at manual labor. His lizard's eyes had turned an unremarkable brown. And his hair hung to his shoulders, interspersed with gray. He'd become fully human once more, back to what he'd been before he'd taken the dark power for his own. Something which his son was clearly quite pleased about.

Rumple's misery was, quite honestly, the one and only thing keeping Regina going.

The damn imp deserved it.

He deserved a whole, long lifetime of boredom and powerlessness, playing daddy to his long-neglected son.

She trudged on ahead of the pair as Baelfire insisted on helping a non-compliant Rumple over the fallen tree.

She looked around with a sigh. There had to be some sort of civilization around here _somewhere_.

Even without her magic, Regina was sure she could find a way to turn this situation to her favor. Maybe there was a way back. Maybe she wouldn't be stuck in this rotten, rain soaked excuse for a world forever. She'd return, take back her kingdom, and slaughter the damnable—

A rustle in the trees up ahead interrupted her thoughts.

She came to an abrupt stop.

Well behind her, Rumple tumbled to the ground and cowered behind his son's legs for cover. "What was that?"

"Could be anything," Regina replied. "Dragon. Wraith. Troll. All are equally plausible. We know nothing of this place."

Rumple glowered at her, aware that she was taunting him but also clearly terrified of what might be ahead. Regina suppose she couldn't blame his magic, he was as defenseless as his dolt of a son.

She turned back around, ready to face whatever horrors this awful place could dredge up, when, over the next rise, appeared a man. He lurched to a stop when he spotted her, one booted foot skidding in the leaves.

He had a hood drawn up over his head against the rain and a bow slung over one shoulder. Against the other he held a string of dead hares, tied together by their feet. The fletched end of several arrows stuck up from behind his back where he had them safely stowed.

A peasant.

Excellent.

Regina knew how to deal with those.

She stepped forward, her chin in the air, her chest puffed out, and called out. "Hello! You there!"

"Hello!" The man waved and started down the slope toward her.

"I was beginning to think this whole forest was uninhabited," she said.

He laughed. "Not so much as it might appear. Are you lost? It is lucky you ran into me first. There are outlaws about." At that, he sent her a charming grin and a wink.

"Not exactly. We found ourselves here a bit…unexpectedly," Regina replied.

The man stopped and surveyed her, his gaze sweeping from head to toe. "You're injured."

She raised a hand to the cut near her neck, still oozing blood. "I'm fine," she snapped, waving away his concern when he finally managed to lift his eyes from her cleavage. "Anyway, it's none of your concern. I require you to escort us to the nearest village, assuming there even _is_ one in this miserable land."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me? Is that an order?"

"Of course it is. I am a _Queen_!"

"Are you now?" He laughed again, mockingly this time, and where she might have used her magic to shut him up before, she had no recourse now except to glare. "Well then, to be quite honest, on top of your deplorable manners, your supposed royal pedigree makes me want to help you even less! Enjoy your stay in Sherwood, M'Lady."

He turned as if to walk away and Regina felt a moment's panic.

"Wait!"

He paused and glanced back.

Rumple and Baelfire came up behind her and one of them nudged her in the ribs hard enough to knock loose an aggravated sigh.

"You want to still be wandering these woods at night?" Rumple hissed in her ear. "Make nice with the man! I'm frozen to the bone and it's only going to get worse."

As if to reinforce his point, the rain began to fall even harder.

Regina gritted her teeth.

"I apologize for being rude," she ground out, looking up at the man. "As you can see, it's been a difficult day. We'd appreciate your help."

He arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing across his features.

"I'm afraid you'll find no accommodations worthy of royalty in these woods. But as you're clearly a woman in desperate need…I'll offer you what humble hospitality I can. My camp is this way." He gestured over his shoulder, eastward. "Your friends are welcome, as well."

Baelfire and Rumple shoved past her, already moving to follow the man.

Regina heaved a massive sigh.

A _camp_.

Good grief. How had her life come to this? Would she be sleeping on the ground tonight? Eating a gristly, boiled rabbit out of a kettle? What she wouldn't do for an ounce of magic, for a good sized fireball…

She was going to reek of forest for weeks after this.

Feet heavy with resignation, she started after them.

"Do you have a name, Your Highness?" the man asked as she fell into step behind him.

"Regina."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Of course it is." Then, with a flourish, he turned, swept the hood off his head, and proffered his hand. "I'm Robin."

Regina rolled her eyes as he took her hand and shook it.

"Come on." He tugged her forward, his grip warm and strong and insistent. "It won't be half as bad as you think, I promise."

She sincerely doubted that.

But there had to be _some kind_ of magic here. She supposed she'd just have to bide her time with this Robin fellow until she found it.


	19. With Happy Endings for All

They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle.  
To them the very rocks appear to smile;  
The haven hums with many a cheering sound,  
The beacons blaze their wonted stations round,  
The boats are darting o'er the curly bay,  
And sportive Dolphins bend them through the spray  
- _The Corsair_ , Lord Byron

Chapter 19: With Happy Endings for All

With Regina gone, her kingdom fell to Snow. And though no one there had dared to breathe a word of her in over twenty five years, those who recalled her father's reign quickly rose up to hail their long-lost queen restored. For Snow, it was obviously a bittersweet homecoming.

Aware of how difficult the trip would be, Emma went with her to visit Regina's castle. They took a large detachment of knights with them for the trip, though the escort proved unnecessary, for the ogre army collapsed within days of Rumplestiltskin's defeat. Overnight, it seemed, the beasts vanished into the woods. It could not have come at a better time. All of the soldiers returning from the front lines were badly needed to help rebuild.

Even so, Emma managed to have two ships sent to Gaston's village, just in case the ogres in the north had not followed suit.

Snow gasped when she saw the castle, and Emma leaned out of their carriage to get a better view. Tall, black spires stretched toward the sky, circled by fell birds. The city that had once stood within the castle's protective walls had been abandoned, all of it falling in around itself and overgrown by creeping vines and sharp, gnarly thickets.

"This place used to be so beautiful," Snow said wistfully. "White and gleaming. Oh, Emma. I wish you could have seen it."

Emma tried to smile. "Me too."

The castle, it was decided, would be dismantled, and what material could be salvaged was to be used throughout the kingdom in public works projects aimed largely at improving roads, aqueducts, and ports. While Snow saw to the finer details, Emma wandered the halls alone, trying to see past all of the black marble, heavy curtains, and monstrous artifacts to imagine what it had once been.

As she stood in the throne room, she closed her eyes and imagined Killian in her place some years before, standing at his brother's side. It was here that he had lost his brother. Here that years of darkness and vengeance had begun to cloud his heart. She walked back out with a shudder, pleased that the place was set for destruction and relieved that Killian had chosen to stay behind and see to his injured crewmates. She missed him dearly. But she was glad to have spared him from the dreadful memories that haunted this place.

In the farthest flung reaches of the castle, she stumbled upon a large, heavily barred door. With help from several of the knights, she managed to break off the locks and lift the beams. Inside, she found Regina's inner sanctum — her vault of hearts. Even without their master, they pulsed with raw power.

Emma was hesitant to touch or move them, but at last willed herself to do as she must. For a solid day, she sorted through them, each brush of her fingers giving her a secret flash of another life, until she found the one she sought.

The bare touch of her fingers against the pulsing heart sent her such private sensations and emotions that it seemed a violation to hold it any longer than strictly necessary. She wrapped it carefully in a soft shawl and tucked it away in her satchel for safe-keeping until she could return it to its rightful owner as promised.

By the time they departed for home, both Emma and Snow were exhausted and thoroughly dispirited.

Snow tried to make the trip back a cheerful one. They stopped at several villages to shop and eat and stroll in the sun. Slowly, the miasma that Regina's castle had left them with began to lift.

Lancelot had seen to the city in their absence. They arrived back to a bustling populace and a palace choked with visitors.

Those knowledgeable in magic from all the realms had been invited to come and render their opinion on how to wake the sleeping king.

"I'm afraid no one has been much help," Lancelot said as he escorted them into the castle. "But the Blue Fairy has just arrived. From what I hear, her power rivals that of the Dark One himself. If anyone can help, it's her. She's inspecting the king now."

"Good." Snow pulled off her dirty traveling cloak and folded it in her hands. "I'll go meet her."

Emma jogged after her mother. "Hang on. I'll go with you."

They found the Blue Fairy floating over the king's prone form, a trail of sparkles left in her wake as she flitted to and fro. The baubles on her dress tinkled against each other, filling the room with the airy sound of wind chimes.

"Your Majesties." She alighted on the edge of the king's bed and bent her legs in a delicate curtsy.

"Reul Ghorm," Snow replied with a bow of her head, using the fairy's formal name. "Please, tell me you know what's wrong with my husband."

The fairy smiled, but it held no warmth. "I do."

Snow grabbed Emma's hand and squeezed.

"So you can wake him up?" she asked, breathless.

The fairy shook her head, her smile fading. "No. I'm afraid I cannot."

"Why not?" Emma demanded, her voice sharp with frustration.

"He was already under a powerful dark spell when the second struck — the one that put the both of you to sleep," she said, nodding to Snow. "When magic mixes in such a way, the effects can be…unpredictable. The sleeping curse itself has been lifted. But while his body is hale, his soul wanders. Lost. He must find his way back before he may wake."

"There's nothing we can do to help him?" Snow asked, anguished.

"You are already his anchor. Be here for him. Love him. He may yet find his way home to you. There is little else you can do but wait."

Emma fought the urge to sag against her mother for support - Snow had enough of a burden to shoulder now without carrying the weight of her daughter's grief as well.

The Blue Fairy apologized for not having the answers they'd hoped for, and Snow thanked her for coming. Their words were muffled by the hot rush of blood coursing through Emma's ears. As soon as it was polite, she broke away and went running through the halls, in search of Killian.

He'd been given a room not far from her own. Out of breath, she flung open the door and ducked inside, throwing her back against it as it closed.

"Hello, love." He sat in a chair with his feet propped up against the window sill, reading a book. He folded it closed and tossed it onto the foot of the bed when he saw her face. "What's wrong?"

Grateful to have a moment in which she didn't have to be strong or brave or put together, she fell into his arms and told him what the Blue Fairy has said.

Killian's hand moved through her hair to settle comfortingly at the back of her head, which lay against his chest.

"If he has even half your tenacity, I'm sure he'll find his way back," he said reassuringly.

Emma stood in his arms for some time, letting herself grow easy and relaxed in his embrace, taking comfort in his presence.

"So," she said, finally breaking away from him and dashing away her tears, "did anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

His mouth quirked to the side in a smirk. "Lancelot offered to petition your mother on my behalf. He intends to make me a knight."

"Really?"

They moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I have no plans to accept, of course. I think he is only trying to make amends for throwing me in the dungeon the last time we met." His hand twined with hers, their fingers interlocking. "My men, however…" He laughed, soft and deep. " _Sir Smee,_ in particular, is quite taken with the idea."

The crew, for the most part, had survived the battle with Regina and the Dark One with only superficial wounds, except for Foggerty, who had broken his leg and both arms when he'd been tossed out the second story window, and Black Murphy who had suffered burns that even now kept him bedridden. The rest were enjoying their stay in the castle, and Emma had made it clear that they were free to enjoy all of the luxuries it had to offer.

Emma lingered with Killian a while longer, indulging in the steady stroke of his hand along her back and the sound of his voice as he told her the latest palace gossip, before finally leaving to change into clean clothes.

They had dinner with Snow that night, and when it was over, Emma snagged Killian's hand and guided him back to her room.

"I feel like I'm about sixteen years old right now," she said as they paused before her door, her heart hammering at the thought that one of the staff might see them slipping inside together.

He chuckled and leaned into her to push the door open. "I assure you, darling, you are no girl, but a woman through-and-through." He sent her a rakish grin, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "I'll prove it to you."

Emma stepped back into the room, and her hands moved up his chest to brush across the top of his wide shoulders as the door swung shut behind him. He bent and captured her mouth in a hungry kiss that left her flushed and weak. His stubble scraped against her cheek as he broke away to pull her closer.

"I missed you," he said, mouth against her throat. "Not a moment went by where I did not think of you."

She gasped when his hand came up to cup her breast and lost what she'd been about to say about how dearly she'd longed for him over the past few days as well.

He maneuvered her toward the bed, reached to untie the laces of her gown, and Emma fought not to lose herself completely in the flames of white-hot desire that roared to life within her. She wanted to keep her magic in check. Despite Snow's tacit blessing of their relationship, Emma didn't think her mother would appreciate seeing sparks of white magic flying through the castle every time she found herself clinging to Killian in the wild throes of passion.

Despite her best efforts, stars leapt and sparkled about her four poster bed. As Killian flipped her onto her back, she had enough wherewithal to hope that they'd spread no further, but not enough to stop them dancing across his sweat damp skin and up toward the ceiling.

Later, the both of them spent, Emma pillowed her head against Killian's shoulder and traced lazy patterns across his chest. Moonlight shone in onto the end of the bed where their feet lay tangled, and a gentle sea breeze cooled their skin through the open window.

"Do you feel any better now?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Aye. Though if you're thinking of another round—"

She turned her head away from his seeking mouth.

"No. I mean…yes, eventually." She pushed him back with a hand flat against his chest. "But I was talking about Regina. Your quest to avenge your brother's death is finally over. Do you feel any different?"

He was silent for a minute. His blue eyes searched the ceiling. Finally, he shifted and let out a long breath.

"I never considered what my life might be like once I had my revenge. I figured it might sate my being, that my life would be complete. I had nothing I looked forward to afterward. I always thought of it as an end."

"And now?"

He turned and looked at her. "Now I realize it is a beginning. But it is a beginning that started the moment I met you, not with my vengeance."

Emma rolled onto her stomach so that she could look down at him.

"I want a future with you."

He reached up and brushed a bit of hair back behind her ear. "And I with you, love. Though I'm not sure what it would look like. Your mother has made me an offer. When I made clear that I would not accept a knighthood, she suggested a naval commission instead."

Emma tilted her head. "And you're going to take it?"

He lifted his shoulders and sighed. "I'm tempted. It would give me back something of my old life. Perhaps I can regain my honor, become worthy of your hand…"

"You already are."

"Not in the eyes of your subjects."

Emma rested her chin against one hand and frowned. "If you take the commission, you'll be deployed."

"Aye."

The thought of being without him for weeks — even _months_ — at a time pained her more deeply than she was ready to admit. She could order his ship kept close to home so that she could see him, but she didn't think he'd appreciate the special treatment given his desire to earn redemption for all that he'd done.

"You should take it," she finally said. "We'll figure out a way to make this work."

With a sigh of longing and affection, he drew her back down to where he could kiss her and made slow, thorough work of it. Her legs shifted to straddle his hips, and they made love long into the night, taking time to touch every inch of one another and memorize every detail. It was nearly morning when Emma drifted off to sleep, too exhausted to continue.

No one came to wake them, so they finally got out of bed near lunch time. They ate, then bathed together before going to find Snow.

She was standing outside the main court, talking to Lancelot, when they approached.

"Good afternoon, Captain Jones." The Queen smiled at him, then quickly corrected herself — "Killian. I'm sorry. That's going to take some getting used to. What can I do for you?"

"Well, Your Majesty, I've considered your proposal, and I'd like to formally accept it."

Snow clasped her hands together. "Excellent! You may keep your ship, of course. I know she is special to you, and since she formerly was part of Regina's navy, it seems fitting that she'd sail now in mine."

"Aye. That it does."

"I hope you won't mind if we don't have a banquet in your honor. I've a mission I'd like to send you on right away."

Emma's heart fell and she bit back a protest.

Snow barreled on. "As you may know, most of our men are tied up here. We already sent two ships north to help with the battle there in securing the Dark One's former lands. But I'd like to send one more, if you're willing."

"Of course."

Snow turned to Emma. "And I'd like you to go with him."

"You…what?" Emma stuttered, caught completely off-guard.

Snow reached for her hand. "I want you to go north, as my emissary. These lands are finally free of the tyrant that used to control them. One you helped to overthrow! I want you to see through what you have begun. Command our men there. Defeat the last of the ogres, help them rebuild, and let them know that we are their friends." She smiled, slow and secret. "Besides, I remember being young and in love. I wouldn't want to separate you two again so soon."

Dumbfounded, Emma didn't know what to say.

Lancelot had to step aside when Emma flung her arms around Snow in a tight hug.

"Thanks, Mom."

Snow kissed the side of her head, then pushed her way. "Go! Go get ready!"

Despite their newfound status as knights of the realm, every able-bodied member of Killian's crew eagerly agreed to return to their posts on board the _Jolly Roger_. They had sailed her into port during Emma's trip. Walking down to the docks and seeing her there, bobbing gently in the water as if dipping her bow in greeting, felt just as much like coming home to Emma as returning to the castle. She, Killian, and the crew spent the day preparing to depart. Just before dusk, Killian hauled in the black and white pirate flag and together, every man with a hand on the line, they raised their new colors — the red and gold banner of Emma's kingdom.

Fair weather and even fairer spirits made for a quick, smooth trip. Emma stayed with Killian in his cabin, complained jokingly about the need for a bigger bed, and took on whatever duties she could about the ship. Being out at sea with him again sent her heart soaring. She drank in every moment. And the happiness she felt, the love she shared with Killian, allowed her to refine her magic more and more.

He was right. This was a new beginning. She didn't know what came next, but she was excited to find out.

They pulled into port in the wee hours before dawn. Ed knocked softly at the cabin door to let them know, though Killian was already awake — ever tuned to the ship's every movement. Killian shouted an acknowledgement to Ed, then rolled on top of Emma and kept her occupied while they waited for first light.

She was almost afraid to climb up onto the ship's deck and see what had become of the besieged city she had left behind.

The sun came up — thankfully — not on the smoking ruin she had feared, but on a place that was not nearly half as sad and gray as she recalled. The port was thick with ships, including the two of her own that had been sent earlier, but also merchant ships, fishing boats, and several flying local colors and those from other northern kingdoms that she only half-recognized. The docks swarmed with life, and they were met in short order by one of their own sailors.

"Princess." He bowed to Emma and offered a hand to help her disembark.

She ignored it and came down on her own. "I take it you were able to push back the ogres?" she asked.

He shook his head. "There was no need to, Your Highness. The folk here managed that all by themselves."

She smiled and pulled a satchel over her shoulder — business she hoped to see to later if she could find Graham.

"I'd like to see whoever is in charge," she said.

"Of course. This way."

Killian went with her, leaving behind the rest of the crew to enjoy themselves in the city. The old evidence of war was still there. Plenty of buildings had been destroyed, and whole sections of the city had been brought to ruin. But much of the rubble had been cleared way. Emma saw signs of healing everywhere. It seemed as if a fog had lifted and now sun shone again.

They were brought to a stately house in the middle of town. When Killian knocked on the door with his hook, a young woman answered.

"Belle?" Emma couldn't hide her surprise, though she should have guessed.

"Emma! I mean…should I call you 'Princess'? Come in!" Belle stepped out of the way and waved them inside.

They sat down, and Emma told Belle what had happened after she escaped from Rumplestiltskin, while Belle did the same.

"So, Rumple…he's…?"

"Alive, as far as I know," Emma replied.

Belle pressed her lips together and nodded. "Good. I know this sounds silly — you probably think I'm crazy — but I hope he's okay. I hope he's happy. There was good in him. I know there was. Deep down inside. Maybe, wherever he's gone, he'll be able to see that again, the way I could."

Emma couldn't quite bring herself to agree.

"What has become of the Dark One's estate?" Killian asked.

Footsteps approached from out of the hallway behind them.

"That, unfortunately, has fallen into the hands of a whole other kind of monster," said a voice.

Emma turned. The huntsman stood in the doorway, having come from somewhere deeper within the house. He was casually dressed and barefoot, as if he had just gotten out of bed. Killian, with a knowing grin, glanced at Emma, then back to Belle.

"Gaston has taken up residence in Rumple's house," she said, ignoring the questioning angle of his eyebrow, "and we haven't been able to get him out."

Emma sat back in her seat. "Gaston? Ugh. I think I can help you with that."

"We'd be very grateful if you did. It makes me nervous, having him out there with all of that dark magic. If you thought Rumple was bad as the Dark One…" Belle shuddered.

"Consider it taken care of," Emma replied.

Before she could leave, Belle insisted on treating her and Killian to breakfast. While Belle cooked, Emma drew Graham aside.

"I have something that belongs to you," she said. "I'm sorry it took so long. I could have sent it with the first two ships, but I thought something like this required…special handling. I wanted to make sure it got back to you safely."

She reached into her small, leather satchel and pulled out the warm, glowing form of his heart.

Graham's eyes went wide. "You found it!"

"I told you I would."

"Yes. But…" Tears formed in his eyes. "I don't even know how to thank you. What you're giving back to me…you can't know, Emma. You can't understand…"

She reached out and carefully tipped it into his hands. "I think I do. A little."

Taking a step back to stand beside Killian, she watched as he held the heart to his chest and pushed, his hand seemingly guided by instinct more than any magical know-how. The heart, eager to return to its rightful place, went in without a fuss, and he stood there before them, wavering on his feet, his free will, his emotions, his humanity — restored.

When Belle walked into the room, balancing several plates full of eggs, bacon, and buttered bread, Graham looked at her with such unguarded awe on his face that Emma had to turn away, afraid that she was intruding on something private. Belle paused, mid-step, then blushed and put everything down on the table.

"Is everything okay? You look…" She didn't finish the sentence.

Graham pulled himself together with a shake of his head. "Yeah. It's fine. I'm just…I'm going to go with them," he said suddenly, and gestured to Emma and Killian. "Help them deal with Gaston."

"Oh. Okay." She made a jerky motion, as if she wanted to go embrace him, but then thought better of it.

Graham went to put on his boots while Emma and Killian ate, and within minutes they were heading out the door together.

"Be careful," Belle said as they stepped out into the street. Her hand reached out to brush Graham's. "Gaston's more dangerous than he looks. If he's gotten into that vault…"

Killian winked at her. "Don't worry, lass. We'll bring the huntsman home to you in one piece, on my honor as a pirate."

She nodded her thanks, then lingered, watching from the open doorway as they left.

* * *

At nightfall, the trio arrived at Rumplestiltskin's estate. Emma drew her horse to a stop at the start of the long pathway leading up to the door. The house was a dark specter in the otherwise peaceful forest — full of bad memories, tainted by evil, and empty save for firelight flickering in a single, solitary window. The grounds, which had been immaculate when Emma made her escape, were a scattered ruin of uprooted trees and demolished stone, remnants of the ogre attack. There was no sign of the beasts nearby, and they'd seen none on the trip from the village either.

Only one brute remained who plagued these woods.

Leather creaked as Killian shifted in the saddle.

"Do we bother to knock and offer him the chance to come quietly?" he asked.

Graham scoffed. "I say we go straight in and keep the element of surprise on our side."

"I doubt we'll need it, mate. This is hardly a fair fight…"

Emma swung her leg over the pommel of her saddle and slid down to the ground. "Belle told us to be careful. Let's heed her warning."

On foot, they crept up to the building. Graham, as the more experienced hunter, took the lead. They kept to the shadows, trying hard not to be seen. Emma unsheathed her cutlass as they approached the door and heard Killian do the same. They both stood at the ready as Graham reached forward, turned the handle, and pushed his shoulder into the huge, wooden door.

It swung open silently to reveal the grand foyer beyond, swathed in darkness, a double staircase spearing up into the still of the night. Emma's mouth went dry at the memory of her time here, and how close she had come to spending the rest of her days trapped until Rumplestiltskin discovered a way to strip her of her magic.

She shuddered.

Though spreading out would have saved time, they stuck together as they explored the house, searching for any sign of Gaston. The room with the crackling fire — Rumple's study — they found empty. The fire burned merrily in the hearth without consuming any of the wood which fed it.

"Who knows how long it's been burning," Graham said with a shrug.

They kept moving until finally they heard the haunting echo of a human voice.

It came from deep within the mansion, down a windowless corridor, which ended in a heavily bolted door that lay open, exposing a staircase winding down into shadow.

"The vault," Emma whispered. "Maybe I should go first."

Graham and Killian stayed close behind her as she started down the stairs.

"Picture this," came Gaston's voice from far below. "A rustic hunting lodge. My latest kill roasting on the fire..."

Was he talking to someone? Emma hadn't considered that he might not be alone.

Gaston continued, "My little wife, massaging my feet. And do you know who that little wife will be? I thought I once knew. But then I realized, the only one in all the lands as beautiful as me…is _you_!"

What in the…?

Ready to do battle, magic blazing at her fingertips, Emma came to the bottom of the stairs and stepped into a pool of candlelight spilling across the floor. Beyond, past rows and rows of strange artifacts lining the walls, Gaston stood with his back to her and one hand propped on top of a full-length mirror, regarding himself with a glassy smile. Though Emma caught a brief glimpse of herself moving behind him in the reflection, he didn't appear to notice. Gaston had eyes only for himself.

Graham let out a sharp whistle, and still he didn't turn.

"Perfect," he said, leaning in close to himself. "A pure paragon."

Emma lowered her cutlass.

"He's trapped."

Nothing they did would break the mirror's hold on him.

Gaston appeared content enough, standing making faces at himself, so they moved him and the mirror out of the vault and up into one of the empty rooms above. Once they had him securely in bed, with one hand tenderly caressing the glass, Emma returned to the vault. All that she could see in the candlelight was enough to tell her how dark and dangerous this place was, but she sensed much more beyond where the light could reach.

She moved over to the writing desk where the candle burned, ready to blow it out and rejoin Killian for the night.

An open ledger caught her eye.

She paused to leaf through the pages, noting the many different hands that had contributed to the volume, and the notes scrawled in the margins.

Killian found her sometime later, still ensconced in the vault, the ledger open and in her lap as she sat engrossed in the terrible, captivating story it told.

"Alright, love?"

She jumped, startled at his voice.

"Yeah. Fine." She put out a hand to him. "Come here and look at this."

The vault was a staggering monument to centuries of sinister and malicious power, of which the ledger recorded every last detail. Emma was simultaneously drawn and repulsed. So much here needed destroyed, artifacts too dangerous even for the Dark One to use. But there was much also that needed to be undone.

"Whose responsibility is all of this now?" she asked. "Someone has to make sure that this magic doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Someone has to try to repair the damage that people like Regina and Rumplestiltskin have done."

"That someone doesn't have to be you," he reminded her gently. "You could stop exactly where you are and still be counted as a hero."

She sighed and ran her fingertips across the pages of the ledger before folding it shut.

"Come," he bid her. "Get some sleep and think more on it in the morning."

No matter how she tried, Emma could not rest in Rumplestiltskin's house. The next morning, she got up as soon as the first hint of light came in through the window, leaving Killian behind in bed, and returned once again to the vault and to the ledger.

Killian was shrugging back into his leather coat when Emma burst back into the room, her heart pounding in her ears and her face hot with excitement. She held up the ledger —triumphant, breathless.

"I have an idea!"

* * *

The _Jolly Roger_ moved swift and steady through the sea despite the frothing waves, turbulent at her bow. A storm lingered on the horizon, flashing and rumbling, lacing the air with the cool, crisp scent of rain. Though it did not disturb them, and Killian assured Emma that they would not cross paths with the gale, it had stirred up a strange mélange of life deep below. The back of something large and dark undulated in the water along the ship's port side, trailing along side them for some distance as the crew held their breath, uneasy, before it finally veered off.

"Hold fast, mates," Killian called out. "The isle approaches."

Emma grabbed a bit of rigging and swung under it in order to take her place at the captain's side. Below, the rest of the crew steadied themselves and drew their weapons. She looked over them with pride — every one of them carefully handpicked by her for this mission.

On the forecastle deck stood Turley and Mullins with Lancelot between them. The knight had only just gotten his sea legs, more than a week into the trip. Below them, Ed stood shoulder to shoulder with Red, her cape flapping in the wind like a banner, and Granny, whose crossbow sat propped against her wide hip, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Smee, who'd been quite forcibly corrected on day one when he'd dared to question Granny's inclusion on the trip, eyed her from his place at the stern. Alongside him stood — most remarkably — Belle, who had insisted on coming when she heard of their mission.

Truthfully, Emma had wanted to leave the girl behind, figuring that she'd be nothing but a burden. But Belle had insisted that she could make her way.

Emma had reluctantly agreed, and Belle had never given her a single moment to regret it. In fact, she'd proven herself a smart, highly adaptable, cheerful, and adventuresome member of the crew. Smee, in particular, liked her, as she always gamely nodded her head to him and called him "Sir" in greeting.

She'd also proved invaluable in helping Emma to wade through the remainder of the Dark One's books and ledgers.

"Do you think they'll see us coming?" Belle asked.

"You can bet on it," Killian replied.

Even as they spoke, the haunting refrain of soft music reached Emma's ears from across the waves — barely audible, like the ghostly sigh a wind flute stirred to life by the distant storm.

The intrepid _Jolly Roger_ continued her track, at pace, straight toward the rocky island now on the horizon. Their speed was a blatant challenge, one that must have puzzled their hosts, because the siren song suddenly dropped away back into silence.

They brought the ship in as close as they dared. The waters around the island were thick with old wrecks and sharp rocks, too difficult to navigate without threatening the whole ship.

Uneasy, Emma left her place at the wheel, raised Killian's spyglass to one eye, and made a quick survey of the shore. Nothing moved about on the rocky beach or in amongst the low scrub clinging to the otherwise bare stone that made up the island. She let out a long breath as she panned upward, across the empty eye-socket-like caverns which gave the island its name, and to the top of its peak where a lone figure stood perched, looking down on the ship with a cool regard that told Emma she recognized exactly who had come to call, despite the new banner the ship flew.

Emma lowered her spyglass and waved.

The siren puffed her feathers and then, with a flap, vanished down a chute into the chambers below.

"I suppose no welcome at all is better than what we were expecting," Granny said with a gruff exhalation.

"There may still be a fight," Emma assured her. "Give them a moment…"

Indeed, a few seconds later, the sirens emerged from the cliff face en masse. They did not sit perched as the sentry had but immediately alighted in a cacophony of flapping wings to circle over the ship. One dropped low, spiraling down out of the rest of the flock, and landed on the ship's main yard, which creaked under her weight.

Emma recognized the siren at once as the one who, on their list visit here, had stolen Killian off this very deck, and who she'd battled in the island's caves to rescue him.

"What business do _you_ have here?" the siren demanded, her wings folded tight against her sides. "Come to kill the rest of my kind?"

Emma stepped forward and made a show of sheathing her sword — hardly a big risk to take with her magic at the ready, but the siren didn't know that. "We come to you in peace."

The siren let out a disbelieving snort. "Then your mission is in folly. It was a mistake to come back here. I would just as soon eat you as treat with you."

"That's because you haven't heard yet what I have to offer."

Emma waited as the siren considered her words. She knew that this was a long shot at best. But she had to try.

After a pause, the siren ruffled her feathers and her wings twitched as if eager to get back to the air. "There is nothing you can offer us which we would want half as much as your life."

The siren moved to take-off again.

"Your curse!" Emma shouted, bringing the creature to a halt. "I know how to break it!"

The siren's gaze snapped to meet hers, eyes burning like cinders. Above, the orderly circle of sirens broke into a chaotic tangle as each one dropped lower toward the ship at Emma's words. In moments, the sails and rigging were heavy with them — ropes straining, the whole ship bobbing strangely as their weight rocked it side to side. All eyes fell on Emma, standing alone and unarmed amidst the rest of the crew.

"That is not possible," the siren finally said. "How could you know anything of it?"

"Because I defeated the Dark One."

A breathless chatter erupted amongst the gathered sirens.

"Even if that is true, the one who cursed us to this fate lived many lifetimes ago."

"I know. There is a record — a ledger — which all Dark Ones kept. It was handed down from one to the next. And I have it now. It tells everything that was done to you, why, and how the spell might be broken."

Legend, in this case, held a substantial amount of fact. These sirens had been mermaids once, daughters of the mighty sea king himself. But they had become enamored with the human world and strayed far from their home in the depths to seek out whatever they could of the life they yearned for. It was there, lingering at the edge of the sea, that the Dark One found them and exploited their desire for a human life to convince them to steal for him the powerful trident that housed their father's magical power. In exchange for their willingness to betray their kind, he used his magic to give them new forms to take to the air as they once had to the sea. Their insatiable hunger for all things human had transformed as well.

The sirens looked down at her, their faces skeptical — not daring to hope.

"There is, of course, some price we would have to pay…" the siren above her ventured. "We learned quite well, there is always a price."

"Only that you do me one favor."

The siren shook her head and flapped her wings. "Oh no. No! We have been down this path before. Whatever you want us to acquire for you—"

"Nothing like that!" Emma rushed to assure her. "I only need you to sing."

"Sing?" The sirens exchanged looks.

Emma waited, mouth dry, while they conferred with one another, casting doubtful looks down at her over the edge of their wings. Finally, after much deliberation, and with a resigned sigh, the siren on the ship's yard dropped down to a closer perch, an arm's length away from where Emma stood on the wheelhouse. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Killian move in closer to her. All of the rest of the crew tensed as well.

"First break our curse, _then_ we will sing for you!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I need a siren's song. Not a mermaid's."

The siren smiled, though it had more the affect of a dog baring its teeth than anything else, and asked with barely contained loathing and distrust, "Why? What would you have us sing?"

Voice soft, Emma replied, "I'll show you."

She nodded to Red and Granny. All of the assembled sirens watched with anxious, ruffled feathers as the two women crossed the deck to climb down below. In the fraught stillness that followed, the siren glared at Emma.

"There is no hope for escape this time," she threatened. "If you betray us…"

Killian sighed. "Relax, love. Emma already had a chance to kill you and all of your kind. You only live now thanks to her mercy."

Doing her best to ignore them, Emma steadied herself, aware how much rested on the next few moments. She held her breath when she heard Red and Granny returning, and let out a slow, tremulous sigh when they appeared again, clutching the slack form of a man between them. They laid him out carefully — reverently — on the deck.

Their king.

Emma stepped down to kneel at her father's side, then looked up beseechingly at the sirens perched all around them.

"Your song does more than just muddle and control a man's thoughts. It speaks to his soul. And my father's…" She paused, overcome, and looked down at his body, full to bursting with her love and fear for him. "His wanders. I want you to try and call it back."

With a thud, the siren landed across from her, the creature's bird feet splayed wide on the flat surface of the deck. Emma glanced up and saw the siren's expression shifting quickly, unreadably, from hard to soft and back again, a riot of thoughts too fast and fleeting for her to gauge.

"What if it doesn't work?" the siren asked.

"I'll break your curse either way, as long as you try."

A deep breath made the siren's chest puff out. Was she thinking of her own sire, Emma wondered? The one she and her sisters had betrayed? The one whose kingdom they'd had no hope of ever returning to until now? Perhaps they thirsted to return to their family just as badly as she did hers.

With a sharp, curt nod to those above her, the siren made up her mind. "Okay, " she said. "We will try."

Emma reached out and clutched her father's hand as the sirens settled closer to the deck. Killian regarded them with a wary eye, but nodded encouragingly when he noticed Emma watching him. From the moment she'd told him what she'd discovered in the Dark One's ledger, he'd never once questioned this plan, utterly resolute in his willingness to explore any option that might bring her father back. Once, in the night, he'd even admitted a grudging affection for the king, and told her how her father had nearly captured him in the forest but chose to let him go.

"I had thought you learned of mercy from your mother," he'd told her. "I think now that I was mistaken. His clemency saved my life. Perhaps yours will save his."

Mouth dry, too scared to hope, Emma gripped her father's hand hard and closed her eyes.

All around her, the sirens began to sing.

Their voices rang out together, clear and true — a melody that had no words but spoke all the same of ocean waves and thunderstorms, of trees and meadows sweet with the first blush of spring, of sadness and longing, of love and birth and sacrifice. Their voices rose and fell in powerful harmony. The rhythm of their song resonated within Emma like her own heartbeat.

She couldn't move, caught by beauty in a way she had not fathomed possible.

The siren's song moved all around her, a thing unto itself, filling the endless sky and stretching down to unimagined depths.

Would he hear it? Would he follow it home?

The earth itself seemed to hum and sigh.

And somewhere, among the aching pulse of the refrain, something brushed by close enough to make her shiver. Something that paused to settle warmly next to her. Something so effused with love that the roar of her magic blocked out the ethereal music and snapped her back to her senses.

Her eyes flashed open. For a moment, she couldn't see for the fire burning within her. But slowly, it abated, and with it the sirens fell suddenly silent.

In her grip…a twitch.

She squeezed.

The hand clutched in her own, still for so long, squeezed back.

"Daddy?" She leaned forward, her eyes blurring with tears that she dashed away in a frenzy, needing to see if it had truly worked.

David's brow furrowed and his lips parted.

"Emma?"

The whole ship gasped, while Emma gratefully pulled her father up into her arms. Tears poured freely onto his shoulder as he tucked her head there in a way he hadn't done since she was a little girl.

He was back.

It had worked!

David pushed her back, his hands on her shoulders. "What's going on? Last I remember, Regina…" He shook his head. "I thought I heard music."

"I'll explain everything," she promised. "But first…" She looked up at the siren standing over her.

"You will break our curse now?" the creature asked, her voice tight. "We long to go home."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

As David looked around in plain confusion — from the half-bird sirens all around him, to the familiar faces of Granny, Red, Lancelot, and Killian who, at the king's regard, bowed with a roguish grin — Emma had Belle fetch what she needed from below deck. The sailors all refused to touch it. But Belle had no such reservations when it came to objects of great and questionable power.

When she emerged carrying the gold trident, longer than she was tall, the sirens sucked in a collective breath.

Emma had found it in the Dark One's vault, carefully wrapped and stored, with a hastily penned warning that it required _light_ magic to wield. Magic like Emma's.

It felt warm in her hands when she took it from Belle.

"With this, I can undo the curse the Dark One cast on you," she told the sirens.

The siren took a step back, toward the edge of the ship, and nodded.

All it took was a gentle wave — the trident seemed to know what to do all on its own. A glittering, blue green magic enveloped the siren, cool and smelling of the sea. When it cleared, she slumped against the deck, all of her feathers replaced by scales, human arms braced against the deck to hold herself up as her broad tail unfurled behind her — mermaid once more.

She waited there as her sisters were transformed back one by one, each of them heaving themselves over the side of the ship to crash into the water with a heavy sigh. David said nothing as he watched his daughter, wielding light magic, breaking curses, bringing back those who had been lost. Finally, when all of the sirens had been returned to the sea, Emma approached the one who had remained behind.

"Here," she said, holding out the trident. "This belongs with its rightful owner."

"Thank you," she said with obvious difficulty. "But I am not sure we will be able to return it. With the things we have done — not just before the curse, but after… I'm not sure we will ever be welcome in our kingdom again."

Belle sent the mermaid a gentle smile. "There's goodness in you. Your song proves as much. Give him a chance. He's your father."

The mermaid's hand gripped the trident, her fingers flexing uncertainly. She nodded and said nothing more, then heaved herself over the side, down into the water and to her fate, whatever it may be.

Emma turned to look first at her father, who gazed back at her in astonishment, and then to Killian who looked near ready to explode with pride and affection.

"Raise anchor!" he shouted. "Let's be off! We've a homecoming celebration to get to!"

* * *

Killian turned the _Jolly Roger_ away from Skull Rock — cursed isle no more — and watched as Emma moved into her father's arms. She was, quite literally, incandescent with joy. She glowed with a soft halo of light and could not stop smiling as she filled the puzzled king in on all that had transpired since he'd been cursed to eternal sleep.

David stared at her in open-mouthed amazement when she told him of her magic and of how she'd used the sirens' song to bring him back.

Killian couldn't blame the man. He was still in awe himself.

The haunting, transcendent song they had sung and the look upon Emma's face when her father had awakened would stay with him the rest of his days. He had never been a part of something so powerful before.

Long after the sun set, Killian stayed on deck, guiding the ship home, too buzzed to sleep.

David found him there, face tilted toward the stars, his hook resting gently on the ship's wheel.

The King cleared his throat.

"Couldn't sleep?" Killian asked.

"I think I've had enough sleep to last me for quite a while," David replied.

"Ah. Of course."

David crossed his arms and drew in a breath, working up to what he had come to say.

"I suppose I owe you an apology," he finally managed.

"No need, mate." Killian waved him away. "We came to an understanding there at the end."

David laughed and climbed the steps to stand next to him. "I suppose we did. Didn't we? Still…you deserve some credit. You were there for Emma when even Snow and I failed."

Killian didn't know what to say, so he looked away, uncomfortable with the King's gratitude. He was not used to taking compliments, or to having any kind of conversation with another man that wasn't full of bravado or posturing. That this man was Emma's father only served to make it more uncomfortable.

"Emma tells me that the two of you are…" David shifted from one foot to the other. "She tells me that you're close."

"Aye."

A moment of awkward silence stretched between them.

"Do you intend to marry her?"

Killian glanced at him. "That's up to Emma just as much as it is up to me. I don't see her as some prize to win. Whatever happens between us will be at her pace and at her choosing."

David made a noise that sounded suspiciously like approval and they stood together in companionable, if still somewhat tense, silence.

"Dad?" Emma appeared from below deck and cast a wary glance between the two. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine." David flashed her a smile. "Great, in fact. Just getting to know your pirate friend here a little better."

At Emma's alarmed look, Killian smirked and said, "Don't worry, love. I'll win him over in the end. I am highly decorated captain in His Royal Navy now, after all."

David's head snapped around to look at him. "You're what?!"

Emma took him by the arm and shot Killian a look. "Come on. I'll explain everything…"

For the rest of the trip back, Killian slept in the crew's quarters, giving over his cabin to David and to Emma who was loath to leave his side.

When the _Jolly Roger_ finally returned, Snow White was waiting for them on the docks, her hands clasped anxiously in front of her mouth. When David appeared at the rail, her cry of joy sent up a cheer among the whole crew. Killian watched as they ran into each other's arms, unable to suppress a grin, and when he turned to Emma hoping to see her smile as well, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard, without a care for who might see.

A massive celebration marked the King's return. The city did not sleep, but rode high on exultation throughout the night and into the next day.

When, at length, the revelry came to an end, Emma curled up to Killian's side in the wee-hours of the morning and said, "You know, I've been thinking…"

"Oh? How did you manage that, between all the dancing and feasts and rum?"

She chuckled against his shoulder and rolled her eyes, then got up to pad across the room. When she came back, she held a large, thick book in her hands.

The Dark One's ledger.

Her fingers played across the cover as she set it down against her thighs.

"There are so many people in here who need help. People like the sirens. And my dad."

Killian arched an eyebrow. "And…?"

"And I can save them. I mean…I think I can. I've got all this magic. I should do something with it! I know that I've got responsibilities here, that someday I'll have to run the kingdom, but…"

"But hopefully not any time soon," he finished for her.

She nodded, then looked down, her hair falling in front of her face.

"Do you think I could do it?" she asked quietly.

He sat up and cupped her face. "My love, I have never seen you fail." He tilted her face so that their eyes met. "You saved me, even though I'd given up hope long ago."

Her eyelashes fluttered and she leaned in to kiss him.

"I'll tell my parents in the morning."

The King and Queen did not protest her plans. Perhaps, Killian thought, they knew better than to try to talk their daughter out of anything. No one could have missed the burning sense of purpose in her eyes. She meant to do this thing — felt, in fact, that she _had_ to.

A week later, they said their goodbyes as Emma — ledger in hand — climbed back aboard the _Jolly Roger_ along with every able bodied member of the crew, ready to embark upon her first quest. Two weeks travel up the coast was a small village whose every occupant had been cursed to forget their past. Parents and children had been separated, unable to recognize one another, families torn apart. Their plight called to her after so recently having lost her own.

"I'll be back soon!" she called out as she waved from the ship's rail.

"Good luck!" her parents called back.

As they exited the harbor, Killian steered the ship out into the swift, northern wind. The _Jolly Roger_ skipped across the water, light and gleaming, her path no longer guided by the dark specter of vengeance. The mast and hull creaked, but it was a happy sound. A sigh of relief. A weightlessness of spirit he had not noticed in the ship since her days as the _Jewel of the Realm_.

He looked up at the sails billowing above him.

It seemed as if Liam were standing beside him again, his hand resting upon Killian's shoulder, his words encouraging in Killian's ear.

_Peace, Brother._

When he looked back to Emma, the sensation lifted, but it did not leave him bereft. Instead, he was at ease. The sea breeze filled him with life. And the soft glow of love in his heart felt like salvation.

Emma walked over and linked her arm with his.

"So," she said, smiling brightly at him through her golden, wind whipped hair. "You ready for another adventure?"

He set her hand upon the wheel next to his.

"With you, love? Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a while, I didn't honestly think I'd get here -- THE END! This has been a really difficult story for me to write. Not because of the story itself, but because my life has been so crazy almost the entire time I've been working on it. I've moved twice. I got pregnant, had the pregnancy get complicated, then had a baby who didn't sleep until he was a year and a half old. My father died. And so did my uncle and a family friend. It's been a rough ride these past couple of years, and through it this story was my happy place. (Well, at least, when I had the time to get to it anyway!) I am SO THANKFUL for all of you who stuck with me through the long delays and the cliffhangers and the "I promise it won't be so long between updates this time" that somehow always ended up being seven months. And HUGE, MASSIVE thanks to my beta, OnceUponSomeChaos, who put a lot of time into this story and made it so much better and never failed to call me on it when I tried to get lazy. :)
> 
> Much love to you all! xoxo


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